The Gang In Egypt
by impactbluefxdwg
Summary: You've seen the Gang in plenty of wacky hijinks before, but likely never this! Join the Gang (and their descendants) as they team up with the people of Scotland to take over the world of Medieval 2: Total War!
1. Introduction

**I'm surprised that no one's ever done a crossover between TLBT and any of the Total War games. Seriously, there's a huge potential for some great stories to be spun in crossovers like this. Well, since no one else is doing it, I guess I will.**

 **Now, just to let you know, this story is actually based off of the brilliant Total War fanfic that is "A Scotsman In Egypt". It's an AMAZING narrative-style Lets-Play by Jerusalem (yes, that's his name), a member of the Total War Forums. And it is one of the best fanfics I have ever read, period. Of course, since I'm basing this story of mine off of that (rather heavily, I might add), I just want to make this clear: I do NOT own the story "A Scotsman In Egypt". It belongs to Jerusalem.**

 **Now then, as for a few details, "A Scotsman In Egypt" was originally a Narrative-Style Lets-Play of Scotland on the then-new Total War game, Medieval 2. Before you ask, the story was completed in late 2007, about 9 1/2 years ago as of this time of writing. And as for why it was originally called "A Scotsman In Egypt", and why this story of mine will be called "The Gang In Egypt"? Well, you're about to find out.**

 **And like my "Vive La Grande Vallee" story, I would likely rate this one T+, that is, between T and M.**

* * *

Come gather around, and hear my tale, for it is both an inspirational account of man and dinosaur's ability to work together and not only survive, but even excel, in completely alien surroundings...and a warning about all the horrors that one's inability to admit defeat can bring to the innocent.

In the year of our Lord, 1080, England was ruled by the mighty William The Conqueror. But in the North, Malcolm III ruled Scotland and pressed his people's position by irritating the English King, knowing that his attention was more wont to stray to France, and that if suitably prodded, Scotland could gain much from England in their effort to do away with the distraction.

And it was quite clear that this wasn't exactly a bad strategy either.

* * *

 _King Malcolm_

 _Age: 50_

 _Governor_

 _Command: 4_

 _Chivalry: 4_

 _Authority: 2_

 _Piety: 5_

 _Retinue: None_

 _Traits: Faction Leader, Aspiring Commander, Talent for Command, Religiously Minded, Skilled Bureaucrat_

* * *

At York, in a rebel-held region separating England from Scotland, Edward and Edmund Canmore, sons of King Malcolm, and therefore, Princes of Scotland, were leading a large mixed army of Scottish men and Scottish Dinosaurs in a siege of the city. Edward, eldest, but young still, was a bloody-minded fighter who was quick to anger and famously impatient. Edmund was his younger brother, and he was smarter, but cursed with a reputation as an academic and a weakling. They were on a mission assigned to them by the Council of Nobles to take York, something that they didn't exactly like, as they didn't like anyone trying to order them about. Even then, they were just fine with going to battle, as they liked the thought of casting down hundreds of rebels, the scum that plagued many lands all over Europe, and were very often heretics.

However, something that had really fired them up, as well as all of their fellow Scotsmen that were with them today, was that one of their spies had snuck into the village beforehand, and found that, in York's prison, there were five dinosaur hatchlings, one longneck, one threehorn, one swimmer, one flyer, and one spiketail, and all quite young, maybe only 5 years old, that were locked in a cell with very little food or water, and whom the rebels often abused just for the hell of it. It turned out that they were fellow Scots whose families had probably been killed by the rebels, and they had then been kidnapped and imprisoned.

Edward, Edmund, and their army had all been enraged by this piece of information, as in Scottish culture, dinosaurs were considered equals of humans, and not even the bloodiest-minded of the Scots would even think of mistreating HATCHLINGS like this. So when the time for the assault came, the Scots were all too ready to play merry havoc with the rebels. The rebels tried their hardest to at least stand a chance against the enraged Scottish, but they were very quickly swarmed and hacked to pieces, as they had been stupid enough to not think about building walls. In fact, the "battle" of York was so quick that it only lasted a few minutes.

After the battle was over, Edward had the hatchlings brought to him.

"Bring em here, lads." Edward ordered Angus and Rory, two highlander cousins in the army, the former currently holding the longneck and the threehorn, and the latter holding the swimmer, the flyer, and the spiketail. The two highlanders had broken into the prison that had been holding the hatchlings, and had brought them out.

"Aye, sire." Angus and Rory complied, and set the hatchlings down in front of their prince.

The hatchlings all seemed quite frightened, and Edward was expecting that, seeing how young and how small they were compared to him, and how they had been imprisoned and mistreated by the rebels.

"Well, ye wee laddies and lassies have had it rough, have ye?" Edward asked them.

"Aye...we have." The young longneck shakily answered, his voice outing him as a boy.

"We've nae family left..." The young threehorn added, her voice telling Edward that she was a girl. "They were killed by these...these monsters that ye've just beaten."

"Well, then," Edward decided, "perhaps I can raise all five of ye as my own. I'm gonna bloody need to learn how to be a father, and I dinnae know if I'm gonna have a born son or not, so perhaps if I raise 5 bairns, I'll have plenty of options for heirs."

"But Edward, they're dinosaurs!" Edmund told him in a worried tone. "I don't think that the nobles are going to like that-"

"Bah, who cares about that rubbish." Edward cut him off. "What's more important, Edmund..."

Then, Edward got off his horse and, with some effort, scooped the hatchlings into his arms, and held them up all at once.

"...is that, today, these wee ones are part of the Canmores." Edward finished.

"Wait, what's going on?" The young threehorn asked. "And who are ye, anyways?"

"Who am I?" Edward chuckled. "Well, I am Edward Canmore, prince of Scotland, and I've adopted ye 5 as my sons and daughters today."

"Hold on, ye're a prince?" The green young swimmer in his arms, a female judging by her voice, squeaked, floored by this revelation.

"Aye, and the heir to Scotland, at that." Edward confirmed. "Ye have a problem with that?"

"Nae, we dinnae..." The young longneck responded, accepting the prince as his new parent. "...father."

At this, the Scots around them raised a loud cheer, thrilled that there were not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE new members of the Canmore family, the family that was the royals. There wasn't going to be much of a problem with finding heirs in the near future.

* * *

After this, and after a well-deserved sacking of York, Edward and Edmund returned to Edinburgh with Edward's new adopted sons and daughters (who were nephews and nieces for Edmund). Along the way, the two had decided on the names that the hatchlings would have: the young longneck, who was a brown male, would be named Tristan, after the hero of the tale of "Tristan and Isolde"; the young threehorn, who was a yellow-orange female, would be named Boudicea, after a Celtic queen who lived 1000 years ago, and who's rebellion against the Romans cemented her as a hero in Scotland; the young swimmer, who was a light green female, would be named Kayleigh, which meant "warrior"; the young flyer, who was a brown male like the longneck, would be named Murdoch, which had the meaning "protector"; and the young spiketail, who was an olive green male, would be named Robert, which meant "bright", as Edward and Edmund assumed that he was smarter than he looked, despite the fact that he was the youngest of the hatchlings, and didn't talk.

Additionally, alongside this, the Council of Nobles had eagerly rewarded the two princes with donations of money.

However, despite all of these good things, when they got home, Edward and Edmund's mood had changed from the earlier heady celebrations of a triumphant return home from a well-fought victory (Edmund's first firsthand experience with war) to melancholy. And on a night soon after, the two of them, both heavily drunk, discussed the "mission" they'd been given. The hatchlings, who were resting on Edward's bed, were still awake and listening in on the conversation nearby, sometimes even joining in, as they had picked up on the mood, and didn't feel like sleeping either. Not that Edward or Edmund minded this at all.

"We're Princesh of Shcotlan," Edward snapped angrily, "Nae bloody erran boysh!"

"Who th... who the heh are they tell ush what tah do!" Edmund agreed, then raised himself up high and lifted his arm imperiously, speaking in a mocking falsetto. "Aye, be gooh ladsh now, an fetch us a Yorksh!"

Edward stared at Edmund with wide eyes, then burst into laughter. He thumped the table and wiped tears from his eyes as Edmund slumped back into his seat, head buzzing and a wide grin on his face. The hatchlings were surprised to find themselves giggling at the joke, despite the fact that York was the place they had been imprisoned in.

"Da...Dadsh losht it," Edward grunted finally, after gaining control of himself, "Finksh hesh sho sma...sho smart, playsh all the anglesh, buh wha he don...wha he dinnae geh...wha it ish..."

"ECSHACTLY!" Edmund cried, standing up.

"YESH!" Edward roared, leaping up himself and staggering backward as he almost lost his footing.

The hatchlings were eagerly listening in now. They wanted to see what their father and uncle wanted to do. They were not disappointed in the slightest by what they heard next.

"We...we shoul be Kingsh!" Edmund proclaimed.

"Huh?" Edward muttered, struggling to get his treacherous fingers to wrap around his mug's handle, "Nae, I'm older, I getsh tah be King firsh."

"That's nae fair," Edmund sulked, dropping back down into his seat.

The hatchlings could tell that this was a problem, because this was a really good idea that their father and uncle had going, but sibling bickering could ruin it. Luckily, Tristan jumped down from the bed and stepped in.

"Well, why don't ye both be kings?" Tristan suggested. "That'll make it easier to handle a kingdom."

"...oh, alright then, lad, we'll both be Kingsh then," Edward accepted his dinosaur son's idea begrudgingly, then paused to think for a moment, "...Kingsh of where?"

* * *

The next day, Edmund woke with a pained groan, clutching his sore head. He sat up in his bunk and swung his feet around to the floor, then hauled himself up with a loud belch. He swayed and cursed whatever ale they'd drunk last night, so potent that even now it seemed that the floor was rocking and rolling like a...like a...like a boat!

Staggering out of the cabin sick to his stomach, he stared in horror at the SEA surrounding him, and the coast far to his left. He clutched the rail to keep his balance, and felt his belly roll once more as he looked back to his right and saw another Scottish ship sailing parallel to them, and just like his own, that ship's decks were lined with soldiers!

As Edmund was looking around, he noticed his nephews and nieces, Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert, sitting near the mast, and upright, like a human would, and it was clear that they were enjoying the sea breeze.

"King Edmund!" his brother's voice laughed, and he twisted around to see Edward staggering towards him with a drink in one hand, probably more ale, and a sloppy grin on his unshaven face.

"King? Edward, what the hell is going on!?" Edmund cried, clutching at his head as a bolt of pain shot through it.

"We're on our way, Edmund!" Edward laughed, apparently no worse the wear from a night's drinking. "Ye came up with the plan last night! We're going to make our own Kingdom, we grabbed our forces from York, made up some crap about a secret mission to get a couple of boats, and we left Father behind to deal with the nobles and England and arranged marriages and all his own crap...we're going to be Kings!"

"Kings?" Edmund spluttered, aghast. "Kings of where!?"

"I asked the same question last night," Edward grinned, "and ye said ye knew a place from yer books where the Kings have slaves and are treated like gods, and ye can drink what ye want when ye want, and all the lasses wander around with their kit off...we're going to be the new Kings of Egypt!"

Edmund doubled over the ship's railing and let the contents of his stomach loose.

"Guess uncle cannae _stomach_ it, nae nae nae." Kayleigh giggled at her uncle's seasickness, throwing in the pun for extra measure.

"Eh, father more fit for sailing than him." Murdoch dryly remarked.

* * *

The two Scottish ships pulled into the port of Alexandria, each with a shudder, and Edward was the first to storm off of either one, with a nervous Edmund in tow, and the hatchlings following behind with neutral expressions on their faces. Edward had been in a horrific mood ever since they had encountered a Rebel boat further back along the coast. Luckily, the archers on both Scottish ships had used their flaming arrows to set the rebel's vessel on fire, causing it to sink, and causing the rebels on board to jump off in panic. Even then, it was not the most opportune thing to have happen on a voyage, and Edmund was concerned that Edward had settled into one of his infamous bad tempers. As they'd travelled on towards Egypt, Edmund had spent much of the time convincing his brother of the folly of taking on one of the mightiest nations in the world with less than 2000 men, and seemed to be getting through to him, much to the chagrin of the hatchlings. He had been sure that once they landed, Edward would spend some time whoring through Alexandria, drink himself into a stupor, get into a fight, and then travel over to the Italian Peninsula with him and write to their father asking for forgiveness. But ever since the naval battle, Edward hadn't responded to any talk on the matter.

Alexandria was a good sized city, close to the ocean as well as the Nile River, giving a green look to Egypt not familiar to Edmund form his studies. To his great surprise, he saw a familiar face standing on the dock smiling on him. It couldn't be...but it was!

* * *

 _Patrick MacDougall_

 _Diplomat_

 _Age: 20_

 _Influence: 3_

 _Retinue: None_

 _Traits: Very Diplomatic_

* * *

"Hello Edmund, Edward," Patrick MacDougall greeted them with a warm smile, "On behalf of Sultan Al-Mustansir, King of Egypt, I welcome ye and yer children to Alexandria."

"Ye...ye welcome us?" Edward asked, perplexed.

"Aye, I arrived a week ago to sign an agreement between Egypt and Scotland to end the threat of Moorish rebels to the west. I explained all about how King Malcolm was so committed to ending Rebel influence that he was sending 2000 of his best troops, along with his own two sons, to lend aid."

"He...he told the Sultan we were coming...?" Edward hissed, and Edmund felt his heart sink as his brother's face turned black with rage, while the hatchlings looked at the diplomat with utter annoyance.

"Aye." MacDougall replied uneasily, having obviously not foreseen the reactions from Edmund or his sons and daughters.

"Ye cannae be serious." Boudicea growled.

"He twists everything, he...he..." Edward gasped, straining for breath, "We were going to be Kings...he cannae...he cannae just...he..."

"Now, Prince Edward, be reasonab..." MacDougall started. But then, he was very quickly interrupted.

"NOT PRINCE!" Edward roared, "KING! KING EDWARD AND KING EDMUND OF EGYPT! TO ARMS! TO ARMS! DEATH TO SULTAN EL MUSTARD!"

"Wha..." MacDougall gasped as Edmund felt numbness washing over him, while the hatchlings were apparently very amused by how their father had called the Egyptian sultan "El Mustard", and the soldiers on the docks recovered from a moment of shock to react with the precision drilled into them in the military, "Nae, nae! Ye cannae do this! We have a deal with these peop-"

"SCREW YOUR DEAL!" Edward roared, startling MacDougall with his vehemence. "FORWARD! TO THE GATES! KILL THE BLOODY EGYPTIANS! KILL THEM!"

"Ah, aye, that's the spirit!" Tristan laughed as the Scottish soldiers, men and dinosaurs alike, began marching at his father's order, ignoring MacDougall's frantic protests even as they buckled on their armor, pulled themselves up onto horses (the men, anyways), and looked across the dusty plain separating the port and Alexandria's gates.

Inside Alexandria itself, Sultan Al-Mustansir stared with wide eyes from his balcony at the force marching towards the city, obviously preparing for battle.

"Seal the gates, man the walls with archers!" he hissed. "Send birds to Tulun of Taba and let him know the Scots have broken their pact! If we can hold the walls, he can have a thousand men here within a week! I'll have the Scottish Princes' heads, and those of the runts with them, sent to their father for this treachery!"

* * *

 _Sultan Al-Mustansir_

 _Age: 50_

 _Governor_

 _Command: 5_

 _Dread: 1_

 _Authority: 2_

 _Piety: 6_

 _Retinue: Spymaster_

 _Traits: Strategically Sound, Talent for Command, Religiously Devout, Faction Leader, Espionage_

* * *

At the port, MacDougall rushed to Edmund's side as the younger soon calmly strapped on his armor.

"Ye have to do something, this is madness!" MacDougall shouted in panic. "Edward will never take the walls and we have nae provisions! Reinforcements will come up within a week and wipe us all out!"

Edmund turned to MacDougall with a look that chilled the diplomat's soul, as he saw for the first time that Edmund appeared not only resigned to this course of action, but almost indifferent to its consequences. As if reading his mind, Edmund spike, "I have worried myself to death on this trip, agonizing over the consequences of a night of drunken boast spoken in jest gone too far...now there is nothing that can be done about it. All there is to make the best of a bad situation."

Strolling over to a wicker cage of birds offloaded from the ship, Edmund coolly reached in and pulled out a dove, then flung it into the air. MacDougall watched perplexed, and then he heard a massive cheer go up from the Scottish troops. Turning, he saw, to his shock, the gates of Alexandria standing wide open.

"My studies...and my father, taught me to always be prepared for any eventuality." Edmund hissed. "I had a spy leave the ship days earlier and make his own way into Alexandria, and he's opened the gates."

MacDougall stared with wide eyes as Edmund mounted his horse and joined his waiting bodyguard, then turned to his 3 nephews and 2 nieces, who were still waiting near MacDougall.

"Come on, now, your father's already heading into the city!" Edmund beckoned for the hatchlings to follow him. "Ye don't want to keep him waiting, do ye?"

"Alright, we're coming!" Tristan responded as Kayleigh quickly jumped on Robert's back, and then all 5 of them dashed after their uncle and his bodyguard, who were starting to ride towards the city.

"The Sultan has a garrison of less than 200 men..." MacDougall gasped. "The mad fools are going to kill the King of Egypt and bring ruin on us all!"

"Eh, guess yon throne of Egypt ain't gonna be lathered with mustard, then!" Boudicea turned her head and snarked at him as she ran alongside her siblings, who, along with their uncle and his bodyguard, actually laughed at the joke.

And for now, that is my story. Return to me again, and I shall tell you more of the two Scottish Princes, one bloody-mined and quick to temper, the other intelligent and coldly calculating, who attempted to remake themselves as Kings of Egypt. And I shall also tell you of the former's adopted children, who, despite being dinosaurs, enthusiastically and eagerly supported their new father on his campaigns, even fighting alongside him.

* * *

 _Prince Edward_

 _Age: 29_

 _Faction Heir  
_

 _Command: 2_

 _Dread: 4_

 _Loyalty: 5_

 _Piety: 3_

 _Retinue: Biographer_

 _Traits: Heir Apparent, Admirer of Beauty, Skilled Bureaucrat, Genius, Deep Pockets_

* * *

 _Edmund The Chivalrous_

 _Age: 27_

 _Governor_

 _Command: 1_

 _Chivalry: 4_

 _Loyalty: 6_

 _Piety: 3_

 _Retinue: Mentor_

 _Traits: Skilled Bureaucrat, Fair in Rule, Bastion of Chivalry, Feels Appreciated_

* * *

 **And just to let you know, Tristan is Littlefoot, Boudicea is Cera, Kayleigh is Ducky, Murdoch is Petrie, and Robert is Spike. Chomper and Ruby won't be appearing in this story. Also, you might have noticed some of the sections about stats. Well, they are about the stats, that is, from M2TW.**


	2. March To Jerusalem

Edmund struggled to open his eyes, which felt gummy and heavy. His head was beating like a drum, and his arms felt like they were being held down. With a groan, he sat up and tried to support his weight on one arm, only to curse as his hand slid along the silken cushions that the Egyptian nobility seemed to favor sleeping on. The women were all gone now, which pleased him' he hated it when they stuck around past their usefulness. He might have been known as Edmund the Chivalrous, but these women were not to be wed and bear children, but merely to be used for their more...obvious charms.

"Will this blasted heat never end?" a familiar voice roared, and the sheer curtains over the entranceway to his chambers were batted away by Edward, shirtless and wild-eyed. "Edmund, have ye nae got any women left?"

"I'd say ye've had enough, Edward." Edmund chuckled, holding his head. "In fact, I'd say we've all had enough...I dinnae know how ye convinced me sacking our own city would be a good idea."

"Aye, but twas fun, was it not?" Edward laughed. "And the men needed a reward after that cursed sea journey here...and the women...by god Edmund, these Egyptian women!"

Together, the two brother stepped out onto the balcony, where a thin sea breeze did something to lessen the impact of the desert heat. Over the ocean and across the continent, and over another ocean and THEN over the length of England, that was their "home" of Scotland. But what had been a drunken boast had become reality, and though Edmund still thought it madness, he couldn't help but admit that Edward had succeeded in the impossible: they'd taken control of the Egyptian city of Alexandria and killed the Egyptian King...technically making them kings, according to Edward.

Edmund thought the rest of the Egyptian Royal Family and their armies might have something to say about that, though.

The two brothers then walked back inside to put their clothes on, and once they did, they walked back through the quarters where the hatchlings were sharing a bed, sleeping under the covers. Edward noticed them stirring a little, as if they were about to get up, but pretended not to notice, as there were more pressing things to care about at the moment. They would likely join in on the conversation anyways, as usual, once they got up.

"This Tulun laddie..." Edward muttered, mentioning the name of the Egyptian noble that was initially heading to Alexandria to reinforce the late sultan, "When he saw we'd killed his King, he turned tail and headed into the Desert...that says something about him, does it nae."

"It says he is smart." came a new voice, echoing what had been in Edmund's mind. "He had less than 1000 men and we controlled the walls, he pulled back to gain new men and prepare siege equipment."

* * *

 _Tulun of Taba_

 _Age: 25_

 _Family Member_

 _Command: 2_

 _Chivalry: 0_

 _Loyalty: 6_

 _Piety: 2_

 _Retinue: None_

 _Traits: Aspiring Commander, Confident Defender, Generally Loyal, Dutifully Religious_

* * *

The two "Kings" of Egypt turned to stare at Patrick MacDougall, the young Diplomat their father had sent to Egypt to (unsuccessfully) prevent war between the two nations. MacDougall had studied at the same schools as Edmund, though he was younger, and the Prince believed that their Father had sent him in the hope of some bond of friendship to be strong than his bond with his Brother.

Behind the two brothers, Boudicea woke up, rubbing her eyes with her paws, before sitting up in her bed.

"Morning, daddy." Boudicea said to her father, still a little groggy from waking up.

"Morning, Boudicea." Edward acknowledged his daughter briefly before turning back to MacDougall.

"So ye're back, are ye?" he grunted. He did NOT like MacDougall. "And what has ye weak jabbering gained for us? Have ye signed another deal on behalf of Father that leaves us little more than servants?"

"I have spoken with Tulun of Taba," Patrick replied, ignoring the insult as best as he could, "and while he turned down my offers of diplomacy, it did give me a chance to gain valuable insight into the situation of the Egyptians."

"And?" Edward insisted. "I dinne have time for ye pontificating, MacDougall, give it to me straight!"

"The Egyptians are proud and stubborn, which I'm sure ye are familiar with." MacDougall grinned, and was rewarded with a surprised smile from Edward. "But the food they offered was scarce, their clothes were frayed at the sleeves, and their armor, while polished, was battered. Given the late Sultan's eagerness to accept our previous offer of assistance...I believe the war with the rebels has bankrupted them."

Edward roared with laughter, throwing his arms in the air, "It's almost enough to make one believe there really is a God! We attack at just the moment the Egyptians cannae afford to mount a counter-attack!"

"Don't be so quick to claim divine favor, Edward." Edmund warned. "We're nae exactly awash in money ourselves, running this city will cost us; the price of mercenaries given the war between us, Egypt, and the rebels is astronomical, and we need to reinforce the troops we brought form Scotland."

A diplomatic cough caught the three men's attention, and they turned to see a messenger standing in the doorway. Edmund raised an eyebrow at the crest the messenger wore, that of a member of the Papacy, and cursed Edward's earlier mention of God, or the lack of one.

Edward took the message from the man without a word, a scowl on his face, and Edmund knew what he was thinking. Their father was a religious man, and put great stock in the approval of the Pope. Had he requested a favor from the Pope? Was this a demand from God's representative on Earth that they cease their Egyptian adventure, and return to the cold, wet highlands of Scotland?

Meanwhile, Boudicea got off the bed and landed on the floor, albeit on her rump, due to the slick floor, but she stood back up and walked over to her father, circling him with a concerned expression as she wondered what her father was finding on the letter.

But as Edward read over the note, his expression changed from a scowl to a wide-eyed look of wonder, before a huge smile lit up his face.

"Servants!" he cried. "Take this messenger and treat him like a king! Feed him, bathe him, and clothe him in the finest silks!"

The messenger raised an eyebrow but did not object as ever present servants materialized seemingly from nowhere to see to his needs. Edmund had to admit that the Egyptians had done a good job of breaking down their countrymen into perfect servants.

"Dinnae be so quick to claim divine favor, Edward!" Edward mocked, mimicking Edmund's earlier words with a high-pitched falsetto. "I dinnae remember much of my interminable Bible studies, brother, but I do remember this...God helps those who help themselves!"

And he handed the scroll to Edmund and Patrick, who stared in shock at what it read. While the two of them were occupied by the letter, Edward quietly and quickly explained to her daughter what exactly the letter meant, and Boudicea quickly gained a look of excitement and a grin just as big as her father had, and she promptly jumped on the bed and told her startled brothers and sister about the letter and what it meant. While Tristan, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert weren't quite as enthusiastic for watching battles as their sister was, they were also excited by this news.

If one wondered about what the letter was about, it was that the Pope had called for a Crusade on Jerusalem, which was currently a rebel-held city not too far from Alexandria, and was calling for all Christian nations to join the Crusade. Scotland being a Christian nation, this gave Edward and his men another opportunity for taking over a city, and the hatchlings another opportunity to spectate how their father led his men to victory.

* * *

Edmund sat on his horse looking at the high walls of Jerusalem nervously. He had seen large cities in the past, his status as a Prince of Scotland and his education having taken him to some of the greatest cities in the world. But Jerusalem was something else, even for someone like himself, who took religion as just another duty to be preformed on Sundays. The city was history itself, the home of major religions and major conflicts about the same.

He and Edward had set out with the bulk of their army from Alexandria, leaving behind enough men to dissuade any Egyptian army from attempting to retake their port city in their absence. Edward had insisted that they make contact with Tulun of Taba before taking ship to Jerusalem, and they'd engaged in an unsatisfactory skirmish with Tulun's archers, killing half of the Egyptians under Tulun's command, but failing to prevent Tulun himself from escaping.

But things were different now, they'd sailed past Gaza and arrived at the walls of Jerusalem, and it was here that their ranks had swelled massively. Religious fanatics from around the world had responded to the Pope's rallying call, and had been waiting only for a leader to take them into Jerusalem itself. Other nations had been raising armies to join the Crusade, but providence had seen to it that only the two Scottish Princes were in place to take control of the religious mercenaries, and they'd spent almost every last florin they'd brought with them to bring the men into their ranks. Edmund had to admit that religion had its uses, as for the cost of a small band of Sudanese swordsmen he'd hired shortly after the sack of Alexandria, they'd gained almost a thousand fanatical fighters to help them take Jerusalem.

Edward had changed quite a bit on their journey, for after their victory over Tulun, he'd taken to following the advice of a grizzled old Scottish veteran who had fought by their father's side in his youth, and when they'd been surprised by a large force of Egyptians on their way to their ship, the veteran's advice had been pivotal in turning the course of battle and gaining them victory. As they'd approached Jerusalem, Edmund had been quite surprised to hear Edward casually talking with his sons and daughters about strategies to take Jerusalem while reducing their own losses, a far cry from his strategy in York and Alexandria, which had been to just overwhelm the opposing army with a superior number of warriors and decimate them, and the hatchlings, while young, absorbed all of it like a sponge, even asking their father about certain details, and, in one instance, pointing out a flaw with the strategy.

* * *

 _Retinue Expands_

 _Prince Edward_

 _Veteran Warrior_

 _+1 to personal security (decreases the chance of being killed by assassins), +1 Command when commanding infantry_

* * *

Now, Edmund sat his horse with a smallish force of the religious fanatics they'd added to their ranks, staring first at the high stone walls of Jerusalem lined with hundreds upon hundreds of archers, and then down the field before the city, where Edward was leading the bulk of the forces, and the hatchlings were no doubt with him. Edmund's mission here was hardly a glorious one: he was to hold position with his men unless called for, and other simply make sure that no surprise reinforcements came to aid the rebels holding Jerusalem.

* * *

Edward stared wide-eyed at his men, of such a number that they stretched the entire length of Jerusalem's city wall. He felt euphoria now before the battle that he usually only felt at its climax, which he put down to being the infectious religious euphoria of the bulk of his new troops. They were itching with excitement, eager to kill heathens, and his original Scottish troops, even the dinosaurs, seemed to be getting caught up int he religious fervor too, and Edward knew that he had to be careful to ignite that smoldering flame with just the right words.

Behind him, as usual, the hatchlings were with him, eager to see Jerusalem taken. By now, they'd developed a sore spot for rebels, understandably due to being imprisoned and abused in the past by English rebels in York, and because of that, they enjoyed seeing the scum cleared from the fields and cities. Boudicea in particular was eager to see a Scottish flag flying in the city.

Then, Edward lifted his sword high, and felt the hairs on the back of his head raise up as the entire force suddenly went quiet, waiting to hear him speak.

"Okay, lads," he roared, "Let's get the bastards!"

* * *

 **Once again, rated T+ for a reason, as the first scene in this chapter, for example, shows. Of course, as you might have expected, this is going to be a fairly dark fanfic, though with plenty of humor in it as well.**


	3. Taking Jerusalem

"To the walls, lads!" The highlander commander screamed, and his men lifted the ladders and began running at a quick trot, followed on all sides by the other units chosen to scale the walls. They were close to 500 men, the highlanders who had travelled to Egypt with Prince Edward and Edmund. They were outnumbered in the Scottish Army by the mercenaries hired to help them, who themselves consisted mainly of rabidly fanatical Christians who believed themselves to be on a divine mission from God. Not far behind the highlanders were the 80 or so dinosaurs, not counting the hatchlings whom Edward adopted, that also came with them on the journey. Most of them were swimmer-type dinosaurs, who wore light (for their size) armor, and wielded oversized clubs and shields, but some among them also wielded massive slings, with which they could hurl large stones, each the size of a small human child, great distances through the air. The rest of the dinosaurs were either longnecks or threehorns (and dinosaurs similar to threehorns), who were also wearing some sort of armor, and, with their great size, could smash down gates, or (well, longnecks, anyways) bring down castle/city walls.

"Angus, what in the hell have we gotten ourselves into!?" One highlander cried out as he gripped the ladder tightly and ran towards the imposing stone wall, arrows flying past them as the rebel troops on the walls sought to bring them down.

"It's just like a bar-room brawl, Rory!" The Highlander on the opposite side of the ladder laughed, his mouth hanging wide open in a crazed grin. "Just with a few thousand more lads to bash up!"

They reached the walls first, giving a cheer as they saw the others spread out among the wall reach their targets, the dinosaur slingers behind them providing some "covering fire" in the form of a volley of stones, and their commanders roaring at them to raise the ladders and climb, climb, climb!

Many of the archers were killed when the flying stones hit the top of the walls, either by being nailed directly by the stones, or trampled or knocked off the walls by their panicked comrades who tried to avoid the stones. In desperation, the remaining archers fired their arrows down the ladders at the quickly climbing soldiers, but the Scots kept coming, seemingly unfazed as rebels desperately tried to push back the weighted ladders and the men on them. At the top, swords swung, and the poorly armed archers quickly retreated, offering very little resistance at the only time they might have successfully repelled the invaders. Religious mercenaries seemed to be possessed of almost divine strength as they reached the top, letting loose a roar as they swung swords, cleaved heads from necks, and grabbed panicked archers and pitched them off the side of the wall to the ground far below.

"Take the gate, take the gate you bastards!" The Highland Commander screamed. "Open the gate!"

The Highlanders surged forward like demons, their faces painted and the terrified rebels retreating before them as they let loose a bloodcurdling battle cry. Angus burst through the gatehouse door, charging directly into a rebel as the man tried to drop his bow and draw his sword. Lifting him bodily into the air, Angus flung him into the wall, the rebel slumping to the ground like a sack as more highlanders pushed inside, taking control of the gates.

"FORWARD!" Edward boomed as his messengers brought word that the gate was theirs. "KILL THE HEATHENS! THEY HOLD CHRISTIAN LAND!"

The religious mercenaries let loose a scream of triumph as they passed through the gate, as further inside Jerusalem the Rebel Captain, Reis, roared for his men to pull back from the streets and hold the City Center, to make the Crusaders come down the narrow streets to them and offset their numbers advantage. The last of the archers who had escaped the massacre on the walls ran in horror, finding themselves overtaken by the Scots and slaughtered despite any cries of protest.

* * *

"My Lord," the messenger gasped as he reached Edward's side near the gates of Jerusalem, "the rebels are holding the City Center, our men must move narrowly down the main road!"

"Send a unit of mounted Knights to the front." Edward ordered. "Have them charge the rebel spears."

"My Lord, Spearmen will make short work of the caval-"

"THEN," Edward growled, narrowing his eyes at the messenger, "move two more units of mounted knights to either flank of the Rebels, pull back the first, and send in our infantry to engage the spear at the front. Then have our archers and our slingers fire over the top of our men into the rear of the Rebels."

"Aye my Lord," the messenger gasped again, saluting, "I apologize for my hasty words."

"Kill them." Edward whispered as the messenger rushed away to impart orders. "Kill every last heathen bastard."

Behind him, of course, the hatchlings were watching the battle, but unlike normally, where they would comment on the demise of enemy units and the success of Scottish ones, this time, they were so mesmerized by the battle that they were completely silent.

* * *

Edward's order had the desired effect, as the Rebels found themselves essentially surrounded, with no way to retreat back without allowing the entire Scottish army to take the City Center and crush them like an unstoppable wave. The Rebels knew that they had no other option than to fight, and screamed their defiance as they fought back, but found their intensity surpassed by the berserker-like religious fervor the fanatics had whipped themselves into.

"KILL THE HEATHENS!" a mounted knight screamed as he laid into rebels with both horse and sword. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM! IN THE NAME OF GOD AND JESUS! JESUS! JESUS!"

"Aye, Jesus!" Angus proclaimed as he cut down a Spearman with a laugh. "Good lad that Jesus, always gets his round in!"

"By god, Angus, if I get killed from laughing I'll haunt ye for the rest of ye life!" Rory laughed.

"By hell you will!" Angus laughed back. smashing in the face of another rebel. "Ye'll be watching yer own sister bathe in the lake back home!"

A small group of Bedouin Cavalry pulled through the mass of death and maiming taking place before the Highlanders, and one raised his sword as he saw that much of the force was behind him now, with only unmounted Highlanders between him and the city gates, and perhaps freedom. He charged his horse forward, thinking the Highlanders would part before him, and to his great shock, one appeared to laugh as he jumped aside and grabbed the man by the arm, hauling him off his horse and roughly to the ground.

"Wffrtny 'ana 'akun zaeimatahum!" the man cried out.

"A gah-lah bala to ye too, laddie!" Angus grinned, and bashed in the face of the Rebels' Leader, Captain Reis.

A collective moan rippled through the Rebels as news quickly spread, and suddenly, the already dominant Scots found themselves tearing through their opponents, wiping out the last of the Rebels. Arms grew weary as they sword was lifted high and brought low again and again, as every last rebel soldiers was massacred where they stood, lay, or ran. Finally, there was nothing left to kill, and momentarily, confusion seemed to hold sway over the victorious Scottish army, the haze of killing lifted, and the religious fervor of the Crusaders temporarily halted, and then a massive cheer lifted up from the assembled men. Jerusalem was captured! Jerusalem was theirs!

Jerusalem was...Scotland's.


	4. Edward The Crusader

Edmund rode through the gates of Jerusalem, his religious fanatics following close behind babbling excitedly at being in the Holy City. Bodies had been cleared from the major thoroughfares, but only the Scottish had been taken away for funeral preparations. The rebels were just stacked in giant piles to be moved later. Edmund frowned at barely guarded gates, but noted with approval that looting appeared to have been at a minimum. Madmen the religious mercenaries might have been, but at least they knew enough not to loot and burn what was now their own city, although that might have been because it was JERUSALEM that was the city in question...this time.

For such it was, the Pope had ordered Jerusalem be retaken by Christian hands (well, Catholic hands, anyways), and they had done so. But it was the Scots who had taken the city, while other Nations were still gathering forces and preparing ships to take them across the ocean. Providence had been kind to Scotland, for the mad decision to abandon the North of England and travel to this Godforsaken Desert had turned into a boon, and now the mighty city of Jerusalem was theirs.

Edmund entered the City Square to find the bulk of the army lined up around the edges, men parting for his bodyguard when they saw who he was. At the center of the square, the leader of the mercenaries, a Hospitaller Knight of St John, was kneeling before Edward, and presenting to him a small object on a red cushion.

"Behold," the Hospitaller loudly presented the object to Edward, "The Crown of Thorns!"

A gasp rose up from the assembled fanatics and Knights, while Edmund and Edward's Scotsmen and Dinosaurs exchanged surprised and wry looks.

"The Crown of Thorns, eh?" Edmund chuckled to himself. "I think I plucked a piece of the true Cross from my arse last week."

The hatchlings, who were standing behind Edward, had a similar reaction, giving knowing looks to each other.

But Edward accepted the "crown" from the Hospitaller with due reverence, and turned around, holding it high above his head, every one of the Crusaders following it with adoring eyes.

"I am a King!" Edward proclaimed. "But I am nae the King of Kings! I serve he who died at the hands of those who lived in this very city, and it is in his name that I claim Jerusalem for God and Scotland!"

The Crusaders cheered, as did the Scots, and Edmund wondered who cheered for God and who cheered for Scotland.

"So I ask ye now," Edward continued, his voice clear and travelling across the square, "With the Crusade done, will ye return to ye old ways? Will ye go back to waiting for the Pope to call ye to arms? Or will ye come with me, and retake the rest of the Holy Lands in the name of God and Scotland? Will ye become good Catholic Scotsmen!?"

And as the assembled men roared their approval, Edmund remembered what his old mentor had often stressed to him as a child. While Edward had spent his youth learning the skills and strategies of War at the expense of a wider education, the eldest son of Malcolm III was, in fact, a genius.

* * *

 _Retinue Expands_

 _Prince Edward the Mauler_

 _Crown of Thorns_

 _+2 Piety (reduces the chance of being convicted of Heresy by Inquisitors), +1 Command_

* * *

 _Retinue Expands_

 _Prince Edward the Crusader_

 _Hospitaller Knight_

 _+1 Chivalry, +1 Command_

* * *

 _Successful Crusade_

 _Jerusalem_

 _-1883 florins awarded_

 _-22 units get an experience bonus_

* * *

 _Relations Improved_

 _The Papal States_

 _Outstanding_

* * *

Crown Prince Nasser was young, but already recognized as a promising tactician. Control of the capital Cairo had been left o him as his Father travelled to Gaza to explore options to repel the mad Scottish invaders that had killed the former King and then taken Jerusalem from the Rebels which had plagued his late reign. With a sizable force to dissuade the Scots in Alexandria, Nasser was in no danger, but his Father saw that the young Prince could learn much from running their mightiest City in his absence, and as Faction Heir, it was important for him to gain that knowledge now.

But now, Nasser saw a different chance: to gain back some of the prestige that Egypt had lost when the mad Scots had killed Sultan Al-Mustansir and taken Alexandria. His agents had intercepted messages between the Scots in Egypt and those in their accursed homeland, and it seemed that family politics were finally coming to a head. Nobles in Scotland had demanded their King recall his sons from their adventures in Egypt and capture a rebel settlement in Scotland called Inverness. With the Princes' lust for blood and glory apparently sated by the sack of Jerusalem, they and a large portion of their army had boarded a ship and set sail for the Holy Roman Empire, where they would be rewarded for their Crusade by the Pope before travelling back to Scotland. Alexandria was still too well defended, but there were reports of riots in Jerusalem and a stretched garrison of cripples, youths, and criminals as its only defense. Nasser saw the chance to make a move now, a chance to recapture Jerusalem before the Rebels could gain control again, AND bloody the nose of the Scots in the bargain.

Time was of the essence, he knew this, and his studies had taught him that, sometimes, taking a measured approach was not the wisest course. Some situations called for bold action, and so it was that, without first conferring with his military advisors or sending a message to his Father in Gaza, Nasser sent the bulk of his force in Cairo to lay siege to Jerusalem. He gambled high, leaving only a tiny garrison to protect Cairo, reasoning that the city itself would prove able defense against the nearest possible Scottish force in Alexandria, which itself could not be emptied for fear of an attack by Moorish rebels.

The night that Nasser heard word that his forces had laid siege to Jerusalem, he retired for the night, feeling that things could only get better from this point on for him, and for Egypt.

* * *

"Edmund, I've done it!" Edward laughed as his brother entered his office high in the Palace of Cairo, the dinosaur children already in the room with them. The battle for the city had been more of a chase than a battle, making it surprisingly entertaining for the hatchlings, who found it hilarious to watch only 55 Egyptians being chased by around 1300 gleeful, baying Scottish soldiers and dinosaurs. The Scots had climbed the walls seemingly out of nowhere, where reality, they had been laying in wait to see of Nasser had taken the bait for their trap. Then, they'd thundered through the streets after the terrified garrison, running the men down and killing another Egyptian noble. Edmund wished he could feel proud of his plan succeeding in gaining them Cairo, the capital of the Egyptians, but the slaughter had been anything but glorious. At least it had broken the siege of Jerusalem, as the Egyptian King had a very much panicked reaction at the death of his son, and called all his forces to his side in Gaza.

"Done what, brother?" Edmund asked with a grin, infected by his brother's good mood as always these days. "Convinced Patrick to return to Scotland?" He could tell that, behind his brother's chair, the hatchlings were sitting on the floor, seemingly almost mad with excitement. He was about to find out why.

"Chance would be a fine thing." Edward chuckled. "Nae, after taking Cairo, I wrote letters to various Kings, Merchants, Noblemen, and the Pope himself...Edmund, I've succeeded in gaining recognition of Cairo as the Capital of Scotland!"

"Ye...ye what!?" Edmund gasped, shocked almost speechless. "But...but Edinburgh..."

"Is nae more our home now than London or Rome." Edmund laughed. "Come on, Edmund, we dinnae even notice the heat anymore. Can ye imagine us suffering another Scottish Winter? Or Summer?"

"But Fathe-"

"Father will still get his messages and his contacts and his reports." Edward snapped dismissively. "They won't agree to call me King Edward just yet, though they have taken to calling me the Scottish King of Egypt in Rome, so I hear."

Edmund took the pile of notes that Edward had been holding and scanned them himself, frowning as he read assurance from various persons of importance that from this point forward, international diplomatic notes of import would be sent to Cairo **as well** as Edinburgh. Edmund was right, it was essentially recognizing that Cairo was a Capital of Scotland, and it was a great victory for him, but it changed nothing on their Father's behalf, for he was still the King of Scotland. Still, there was no point in dampening his brother's cheer, and he forced a smile and clapped Edward's shoulder, congratulating him.

"Oh, aye, tis a great day." Edward smiled, settling down at his desk and frowning at the paperwork. "I must say I dinnae envy Father the papers and the writing that come with being King...I'm just glad I have ye to share the load with me, Edmund."

"The Scottish Kings of Egypt, aye." Edmund smiled.

Behind them, Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert were all together in a positively adorable-looking group hug, happy that they could now grow up in a place just suited for them: the newly-conquered lands of Egypt. Truth is, although they already loved Scotland the Kingdom to an already Nationalist extent, they...hated Scotland the place's winters. Cold, wet, and no way to escape them, the winters were a real pain to live through, as the memories that the hatchlings had of Scottish Winters were getting sick pretty much all the time, and often nearly froze to death, as dinosaurs generally had fewer ways to escape the elements than humans did, and dinosaurs were also much more susceptible to the cold. Here in Egypt, though, the hatchlings felt right at home, as it was hot and dry all the time, conditions that dinosaurs did quite well in, as they didn't need water NEARLY as often as humans did, being able to easily last through half the year without water, and they were FAR less susceptible to the heat than humans were. Although dinosaurs were warm-blooded like humans, it was not very unusual at all for a dinosaur to like the heat.

"They talk of me as King." Edward muttered, going through his papers with an air of distraction. "But it has always been the two of us. I'd nae have taken Alexandria without ye, and we'd never have cleared Cairo and taken it without ye."

"Let them call ye King, Edward." Edmund smiled, accepting what his fellow Scots had taken to doing. "The people need a figurehead, and since ye took Jerusalem, the people have called ye everything short of Jesus himself."

"Aye, Jerusalem." Edward smiled, then frowned as he noted something in a report he didn't like. "A wonderful battle where I felt like God himself the entire time, directing the troops, taking the walls, conquering the Square..."

"Oh, all ye was it?" Edmund laughed, though he was being serious. Since the taking of Jerusalem, Edward had been widely acclaimed for his piety as much as his ability to command a battlefield, and the man himself seemed to have gained a Road to Damascus conversion, talking openly and often of the importance of faith. "What about Jesus then? You said you claimed it in his name."

"Who? Oh, Jesus, right." Edward grunted with a dismissive wave of his arm as he signed off some papers, then muttered under his breath. "Good lad that Jesus, always gets his round in."

"Aye, brother." Edmund said with a smile, and left the King to do his work. Of course, he knew that the hatchlings would help their human father.

* * *

The time had come, the decision had been made, and now the sons of Scotland rode to war once more to put an end to Egypt once and for all. The once mighty Islamic Nation had been reduced to Gaza, and found themselves now flanked by Scottish cities on two sides: to the West was their former Capital, Cairo, and to the East was the Holy City itself, Jerusalem.

As always, Edward and Edmund rode together, the hatchlings following along, of course, and they were accompanied by an odd collection of the troops that had fought with them throughout the desert since their fateful arrival at Alexandria. Religious fanatics dedication to the Extermination of heathens, hard as nails Highlanders, and a lot of Scots, who, surprisingly enough, fought like the ancient Greeks, with Peltasts, Thorax Swordsmen, Slingers, Pikemen, Thureos Spears, Tarantine Cavalry, Hippeus Lancers, Chariots, and Hoplites (which came in Axe, Spear, and Sword-wielding varieties) in the ranks, as well as Scottish Dinosaurs, Sudanese Swordsmen, and unmounted Knights...all moved with a common purpose: to put an end to Egypt. As the two brothers discussed their strategies with the hatchlings, a messenger arrived bringing warning, for two small hosts of Egyptians were approaching, the larger being led by Tulun of Taba, whom Edward had desired to kill and his sons and daughters had desired to see fall since their first encounter.

"Allow me to approach them." Patrick MacDougall, who, to this day, still seemed convinced that their presence in Egypt was a temporary madness, suggested. "Perhaps I can reach some kind of agre-"

"Unless that agreement includes Tulun castrating himself," Edward warned, "I'll hear nae more from ye." This point was emphasized by the annoyed hatchlings glaring at the diplomat.

MacDougall **HAD** learned enough at this point to hold his tongue.

The two sides met at a point directly halfway between Gaza and Cairo, the Scottish numbering more than twice that of the Egyptians. By this point, Edward was a far more capable Commander than his first meeting with Tulun, but numbers and geography weren't quite in his favor as much as he liked when Tulun used his normal strategy of hit-and-run. Finally, after his fellow Commander's army had been all but decimated and more than half of his own army had been wiped out, Tulun wisely called for a retreat, now knowing exactly what he was going up against, and it looked grim for him and his Sultan.

* * *

Two days later, as the massive Scottish Army moved closer to Gaza, another force approached from the small city, but this one was far larger, roughly the same size. This time, when MacDougall begged for a chance for Diplomacy, Edward reluctantly agreed...although, in reality, that was because he was playing along with a plan that his hatchling sons and daughters had made for him when dealing with this huge army: to make it look like the Scots were fearful, when in reality, the Scots were far on the opposite end of that scale.

MacDougall returned only a few hours later, looking very pleased with himself, and explained himself to the Brothers and the hatchlings. He had met the leader of the Army, Captain Al-Mahdi, and quickly determined that the man was a nobody, someone the Egyptians felt they could safely lose. He'd offered the man a bribe to lead his Army anywhere but there, knowing it would be refused, but creating the impression that the Scots were concerned by the sheer size of the army.

"He and his army are castaways, throw-offs." MacDougall explained as, for the first time, Edward listened in rapt fascination. Even the hatchlings silently agreed that the diplomat was finally being useful for SOMETHING. "Kill Al-Mahdi and the rest will break and run. They're here simply to be a bump in our road, to give the Egyptians time to prepare defenses at Gaza...I think that this bodes well for us, my Lord. It suggests the forces in Gaza are neither numerous or of quality."

"Then we kill Al-Mahdi." Edward replied cheerfully, standing up. "There are nae many Egyptian soldiers left, so we might as well kill them while we still can."

Kill them they did. In the resulting "battle", the Egyptians had gotten overconfident by the fact that they had finally managed to make the invading Scottish devils afraid, and foolishly charged at the Scottish army...only to find out that the Scots were not so afraid at all, and the Egyptians realized this to their horror as they lost three quarters of their army, including Al-Mahdi, while the Scots only suffered 100 casualties out of around 1500.

* * *

With Al-Mahdi gone, the Scottish army finally approached Gaza, making camp within a day's ride of the city as Edmund waited for word from his agent. Upon receiving it, he was forced to read the documents several times before he could believe what he was reading, and with a heavy heart, he approached Edward's tent.

"Ye've made contact then?" Edward asked,

"Aye." Edmund sighed. "MacDougall was right, the Egyptian army IS all concentrated here, and they're neither numerous or of quality...but there is a problem."

He showed Edward his documents, notes taken by his most trusted spy, Fearghus Campbell. Because of events that only Scots knew happened, and even though they now spoke English, the Scots still used Greek characters in writing, as opposed to Latin characters. The documents detailed the defenses and make-up of the Egyptian garrison, and they made for worrying reading. There were close to 1200 of Egypt's best soldiers ready to defend Gaza, but that was not the source of concern. The problem was that Tulun's mounted archers would be able to make use of the city streets to safely attack from great distances, the gatehouse was far too well defended for Fearghus to infiltrate and open in the events of a siege, and the walls would be swarming with soldiers ready to repel any attack. Gaza was perfectly designed to repel a siege.

"It's now or never then." Edward muttered. "We cannae let ourselves come this father, gain so much, only to fall at this last obstacle. Soon, we lay siege to Gaza, and at the end of the battle, either Egypt will no longer exist...or Father will be undisputed King again and have two sons less to worry him."

* * *

 _Sultan Mubarak_

 _Age: 43_

 _Governor_

 _Command: 2_

 _Chivalry: 1_

 _Authority: 2_

 _Piety: 4_

 _Traits: Deep Pockets, Poor with Taxes, Religious, Fair in Rule, Faction Leader_

* * *

 _Crown Prince Moussa_

 _Age: 17_

 _Faction Heir_

 _Command: 1_

 _Chivalry: 0_

 _Loyalty: 5_

 _Piety: 1_

 _Traits: Sociable, Religiously Proper, Heir Apparent_

* * *

The hatchlings had been resting in the tent with their father and uncle, and when they now asked what was going on, Edward explained to them the situation as best as he could. This time, it was actually enough to make Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert visibly nervous, knowing that it was going to be a tense, tough fight. However, Tristan didn't appear nervous at all. In fact, he suddenly seemed to have sprouted an idea.

"Hold on, Father and Uncle, I think I know how to make this battle way easier." Tristan told Edward and Edmund. "It might seem like the last thing that ye would expect me to suggest, since it seems to be outdated to ye, but it'll work really well if ye do it right."

Tristan then told them of an old tactic that the Scots Hoplites used to use, much like their Greek counterparts, but was eventually replaced by other tactics because of how it made the hoplites un-maneuverable. However, it was designed for use in tight streets AND against horses & archers, and that would be pivotal in the upcoming battle.

* * *

 **I'm sorry if it looks like I did a huge retcon here with the highlanders (and I kinda did), but part of why I did that was because I was inspired by getting Total War: Rome II, which is WAY better than people say it is, and also because there is another fanfic by Jerusalem, called "An Egyptian In Scotland", which is in the same canon as the original "A Scotsman In Egypt", and that one will eventually explain why the Scots fight like Ancient Greeks in what is supposedly a fanfic of Medieval 2: Total War.**


	5. Last Stand In Gaza

The time had come, the final battle ready, as Egypt made its last stand against the most unexpected of foes: the forces of Scotland.

Edward had added to the already massive Scottish host, taking delivery of men from Alexandria, as well as two catapults that had originally been created to act in defense of the city. Siege ladders were ready, Edward had laid out the battle plans to his commanders, and all that remained was to attack.

Edward's biographer would later write of the passionate battlefield speech the Scottish King in Egypt made that day, of how he waxed eloquent on the virtues of the Scottish, the nobility of the Catholic faith, and the evils of the Egyptian heathens. He would write of Edward's impassioned plea for noble battle under the recognized rules of civilized warfare, to remember that they were liberating the peoples of Gaza and do all in their power to avoid bringing harm to them.

Which was a slight exaggeration of what Edward actually said, which was, much to the amusement of his hatchling sons and daughters: "RAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

As the units chosen to carry the siege ladders ran for the Eastern and Western Walls, the catapults unleashed their firepower, sending burning shot blasting against the gates of Gaza as Crusader Knights, Religious Fanatics, Highlanders, Thurites, Thoraxes, Hoplites, and Sudanese Swordsmen reached the walls and raised up the ladders, charging up to meet Egypt's first line of defense.

The Egyptians found themselves stretched thin and surrounded, but they held the position of power by holding the Gate Towers, and would be able to hold for a considerable amount of time. But Edward had expected this, knowing that the Egyptians would hold the gates in force, splitting their numbers in the false hope of holding out the Scots.

"Through the gates!" Edward ordered, his remaining infantry on the ground charging through arrow fire to enter the city. This was the moment of truth, when Edward's plan would succeed or fail based on the reaction of the Egyptian lords. As his men entered the city, flags raised in the City Center to pass on order, and to Edward's great belief, the Gate Towers began to empty out as close to half the Egyptians holding them foolishly ran to meet the Scottish infantry on the ground.

"Charge the horses!" The Cavalry Commander screamed, and they charged forward, firing arrows and throwing javelins as they rode at the Egyptians massing at the doorway. Now, the Egyptians were trapped between the Scottish infantry inside the city and the Scottish Horsemen closing in on them.

* * *

In the City Center, Tulun of Taba gritted his teeth as the latest message came in: they stood to lose the gates, as their men there were surrounded on all sides by the Scottish.

"My Lord, we must destroy their infantry and push them back from the gates." Tulun warned the man by his side, Crown Prince Moussa. The 17 year old Heir to the crumbling Egyptian Empire was untested in battle or command, raised only recently to a never-expected position of authority by the death of his older brother, Nasser. He wore a frightening mask that was designed both to strike fear into his enemies, and also mask his own youthful features and insecurity. It was this inexperience that Tulun played on now.

"Perhaps a cavalry charge into their rear?" Moussa suggested hesitantly.

"You show an impressive grasp of tactics for one so young and untested, my lord." Tulun complimented. "Would you have me lead the charge?"

"No...no...if I am to lead the Egyptians, I must truly lead." Moussa whispered, his face unreadable behind the mask, but his body language screaming his desperate desire to please. "I shall throw back these infidels!"

"The men will be honored to see you lead them, my lord." Tulun smiled with a bow. "Truly you prove yourself this day."

Moussa raised his sword and ordered his men forward, moving at a fast trot downhill as Tulun watched Sultan Mubarak carefully. As usual, the Egyptian ruler seemed not to know or care that his son even existed, and it was Tulun's hope that soon he would not. The charge would likely succeed, but if Tulun knew Moussa's type, the youth would ride at the head of the force and be among the first to die. The end result? The Scots would be repelled, Moussa would die a hero, and he, Tulun of Taba, would be the new heir to the throne of Egypt.

* * *

At the gates, Moussa did indeed lead the charge, but the results was nothing that any on Egypt's side would have expected or hoped for. The Scottish infantry were still in the process of slaughtering the Egyptian infantry from the walls, but they saw the charge coming. And with that, they quickly parted to either side of the gate as the Egyptian cavalry rode in, the Scottish Horse Archers on the other side turning aside as well, but then, a great horn sounded, and the sound of the thunder of hooves drowned out the sound of Moussa's own charge.

"FOR GOD AND SCOTLAND!" Edward roared as he lead his heavy cavalry, which consisted mainly of his bodyguard, and many Hippeus Lancers, cutting right through the remaining Egyptians inside the gate like a hot knife through butter...and just about anything else.

"FOR ETHELRED!" Edmund shouted, in honor of the woman that he had recently become betrothed to and would soon marry...if he survived this battle.

The Egyptian infantry were practically squashed by the horses, which plowed right through them and directly into Moussa's bodyguard, Scotsmen swinging with swords and stabbing with lances in a killing frenzy. Above them, on the walls, the Egyptians were cut down and bodily thrown aside as Scotland took the gates of Gaza.

Moussa's eyes were wide behind the implacable face of his battle mask, his panic rising as he saw his men cut down before him. A sword swung at him seen from the corner of his eye, and he flung up his shield in a panicked attempt to block it, unbalancing his horse, which rose up on its hind legs, spilling Moussa from his mount. His world went black and he staggered to his feet, clutching in horror at his face as he realized that his helmet had twisted on his head and blinded him to the battle around him.

"FATHER!" Moussa screamed, and then a Scottish horse rid him down, with him squawking in surprise before his world went dark again, this time for good.

* * *

 _Enemy General Fallen_

 _Crown Prince Moussa_

 _Egypt_

* * *

The Scottish forces regathered, staring up the narrow road and the turn that would lead to the City Center, which stood on an easily defended hill. They had gained their first victory in taking the gate, but now was the most dangerous challenge: assailing Sultan Mubarak on high ground.

In the square itself, Tulun grinned from behind his veil. Things may not have gone as expected at the Gate, but he had his own surprise in store of the Scots. Soon, they would ride up the streets towards shim and Sultan Mubarak, only to find their horse cut off from the infantry by reserve Spearmen. Then, Tulun would ride in to crush the accursed Scottish Princes against the wall of spears, which was sure to lead to the rout of the rest of the Scottish Army.

"We ride at the front." Edward told Edmund as the army prepared to march up the street. "Let the Egyptians see us coming. Let them see the new Kings of Egypt coming to replace them."

"Aye, Brother." Edmund agreed. "But remember Tulun and his archers. One stray arro-"

"Let me worry about Tulun." Edward grunted. "I have plans for that lad."

Tulun watched in rapture, sensing his moment of victory was close now, so close. From his vantage point, he could see the banners of the Scots approaching, and as he'd expected, the Princes were riding at the vanguard. He forced himself to wait, not to make the call too early, not to wreck this last chance at glory, and, eventually, the throne. He waited and waited and waited and...NOW! He cast his arm down and a flaming arrow was fired into the air to send the call out.

What was that?" Edward grunted again as the flaming arrow fizzled out midair. "A signal?"

"Let ME worry about that, Brother." Edmund smiled. "You worry about Tulun."

* * *

At the Eastern wall, a sealed door slammed and shuddered as the Spearmen who had been hiding inside the tower attempted to burst free, only to find their way blocked.

"Open! Open in the name of Tulun of Taba!" The Spearmen Commander screamed in frustration. "OPEN!"

"Sorry laddie." A from the other side of the door chuckled. "Tulun dinnae run this city anymore."

Fearghus Campbell chuckled some more as he leaned against the wall and enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face. Usually, his missions for Edmund saw him move around at night, so, for him, much like a dinosaur, it was wonderful to be out in the sun. He heard a mighty roar in the distance that was undoubtedly Scottish, and guessed that Edward and Edmund were finally clashing with Tulun of Taba and Sultan Mubarak.

* * *

Tulun screamed in fury as the Scots washed over his men from all sides. How had it all gone wrong? He had planned for every eventuality. He had been sure that the Scottish madmen would be his key to the Throne, but the gate hadn't held, Moussa had died in futility, and the Scots had taken such insignificant casualties that they were able to ride up on both flanks of the Square to strike at his forces. To make matters worse, the Scots attacking from the front had formed some sort of blasted shield wall that was thick and dense, making them nigh-invincible, and allowing the rest of the Scots to attack them from the flanks and the rear!

Sultan Mubarak's bodyguard was completely surrounded, and the man himself would very likely be brought down soon, meaning that Tulun would technically be King of Egypt, but only for a few moments.

"EDWARD!" Tulun screamed in madness. "EDWARD FACE ME YO-"

He was cut off with a squawk as hands grabbed at him from all sides, pulling him from his mount. He hit the ground with a rough thud, and turned to stare in horror at the robed figures surrounding him, faces shrouded by hoods, rough hands clutching crude Shillelaghs.

"IN THE NAME OF GOD, KILL THE HEATHEN!" one of the robed figures belted out.

Clubs rained down on Tulun, and his screams of fury became screams of terror.

* * *

 _Enemy General Fallen_

 _Tulun of Taba_

 _Egypt_

* * *

"SCOTLAND!" Sultan Mubarak screamed in indignation, seeing his last blood relative dying at the hands of the Scots. Hands clutched at him, eager Crusader Knights and laughing Highlanders seemingly gone mad with battle lust dragging him from his mount. "WITH MY DYING BREATH I WILL CUR-"

* * *

 _Enemy General Fallen_

 _Sultan Mubarak_

 _Egypt_

* * *

Edward sat his horse in the Center of the city, watching as his men wiped out the last of the Egyptians. He noted Edmund giving orders, sending several units to the East Wall to deal with some spearmen who, for some reason, hadn't joined the battle, and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The battle had gone better than he'd expected in his wildest dreams, and now the blood-soaked streets of Gaza belonged to him and Edmund.

And he, Edmund, and all of the Scots and the Crusaders, had the most unlikely individual to thank for this great victory: Tristan, his adopted son, who had suggested the idea that the Scots use a Phalanx to attack the Egyptians in the center of the city. The idea had seemed mad, even by a Scotsman's standards, at the time, but Edward went along with it, and found, to his surprise, but also to his delight, that the Phalanx was relevant after all. And because of that, the Scots had slain or captured the entire Egyptian force of around 1200, while losing only half that number themselves out of an army of around 2000.

It is done." Edward grunted to Edmund as the latter rode to his side. "The impossible dream, two Brothers who did nae let common sense or an old, broken down man decide their fates."

The two brothers stared out over Gaza, the last city of the Egyptians, now theirs, as was all of Egypt, which had once been the mightiest nation on Earth.

But now there was no more Egypt...there was only Scotland.

* * *

 _Faction Destroyed_

 _Egypt_

* * *

 **And that's how Egypt fell.**

 **Anyways, in case you're wondering why the Phalanx exists in this one, which is supposed to be a fanfic of M2TW, it's because this story combines M2TW and TWR2.**


	6. Hard Times

The King Is Dead, Long Live The King!

* * *

 _Faction Leader Dies_

 _King Malcolm_

* * *

Malcolm III was dead, and neither Edward nor his sons and daughters could believe it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd always believed he would see his father again, though, in his fantasies, it was his father who would come to him, on bent knees in the court of Cairo, begging for forgiveness for ever doubting his son. Outside of assigning Patrick MacDougall the task of forming a hasty Alliance with Egypt, Malcolm had never acknowledged his son's departure to Egypt, never called for reconciliation between him and Edmund. He'd been notoriously quiet on the subject of Edward's victory at Jerusalem and offered no comment on the destruction of Egypt, and now he never would. He was dead, and now the rest of the world had no option but to call Edward what he'd been now for years.

The King of Scotland.

King Edward the Crusader looked up from his seat with a sad smile at the man before him, Mac Dobarchon of Angus. A Highland Noble from a family fallen on hard times, Mac had travelled with them to Egypt as little more than a lad, and was now a fully grown man who had proven himself as a young, but very competent soldier and warrior in bloody battle at Jerusalem, Cairo, and Gaza. Now, he was more than just a soldier, he was family.

* * *

 _A Candidate for Adoption_

 _Benefactor: King Edward the Crusader_

 _Mac Dobarchon of Angus_

 _Age: 24_

 _Command: 1_

 _Chivalry: 2_

 _Loyalty: 7_

 _Traits: Marks of War, Promising Commander, Loyal, Fair Fighter_

* * *

Edward, to his own great surprise, had taken the death of his Father rather hard, as he realized that despite he and Edmund being married, there was no one of an age that he could really trust to take control of Scotland if he was to die. Thoughts of mortality were usually the last thing on Edward's mind, but the knowledge that the constant presence of his father was no longer...he needed someone he could rely on. Edmund was a fine a brother as any man would ever have, and his education made him one of the brightest men in the world as far as Edward was concerned. But would the people follow him? Would the Pope accept a Scottish King who kept a PAGAN MAGICIAN in his retinue? More importantly, did Edmund even WANT to be King?

He'd not always have though any man would ever say otherwise, but their years in Egypt had shown Edward that his brother's truest concern had always been being appreciated for his efforts. He'd been quite angry with Father because Father had taken him for granted, and that was something that neither Edward, nor his sons and daughters, ever did, for Edward still considered his Brother a fellow King, as did Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert, and they treated him as such, even if, officially, Edward was the King of Scotland.

Speaking of his sons and daughters, that reminded Edward of something that he felt he needed to do.

"Mac," Edward told the adopted Highland Noble, "since ye're family now, perhaps it would do if I took ye to meet my sons and daughters. It may sound odd, but ye're likely going to be seeing at least one of them on the battlefield. I'll give ye the mission on the way."

"Aye, my King," Mac agreed, "I can do that."

* * *

Edward's adopted sons and daughters had changed a lot in the 10 years (yes, it really had been that long) since their father and uncle had gone to Egypt and taken Alexandria. Age-wise, Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, and Murdoch were now 15, and Robert was now 10. And they had all grown up a lot as well.

Though still fairly small for a longneck of his age, Tristan was so large now that he could quite literally jump over the walls of Cairo AND Gaza, and fairly easily at that. Being so large, he had to watch out for any man or woman walking nearby, because the last thing that he wanted to do was crush a poor sap under his feet. Luckily, thanks to common sense, and the fact that Tristan was practically impossible to miss due to his size, most people either stepped aside or went right under him to avoid those gigantic legs. One might remember that Tristan would make strategies with his adopted father on the campaigns as a hatchling. Well, even though he was almost fully grown, he still did that, but now, he also played a part in carrying them out: participating in the battle itself. It wasn't just his huge size, great speed, and abnormally great strength (even by a longneck's standards) that made him so terrifying when he fought in battle. It was also the way that he used all that physical ability. Despite his huge size, he could run twice as fast as even the swiftest horses, no doubt due to his long legs. This made him impossible for any cavalry to pursue, and it also allowed him to run down ANY enemy that fled, cavalry or infantry. As such, so far, in the few instances he actually joined in on the battle, he would (quite predictably) dominate the battle all by himself, to the point that, most of the time, he usually just watched so that the Scots wouldn't grow lazy. Even then, Edward had guessed that his true strength was likely going to be in siege battles, for he was very strong, and, one time, accidentally knocked a tower off of Cairo's walls with his tail, and that took a long time for the unamused men charged with maintaining the walls to fix. Edward was sure that if he did this again when dealing with an ENEMY castle, except not so accidentally, Tristan could become a living one-dino-siege force. In spite of all of this, off the Battlefield, as with most any Scottish Dinosaur, Tristan was a gentle and friendly individual, and he in particular was a good friend of dinosaur hatchlings and human children...well, the human children in this case were usually those born of Scots, anyways. Additionally, he actually already had a love interest. She was a longneck named Allison, and when she was younger (around 8), she was originally the only hatchling in an otherwise all-adult herd, before being fed up with that life and running away to Edinburgh, where she stowed away on a ship heading for Egypt. Once there, she snuck off the ship, and then ran through the port and away from the city of Alexandria, before landing awkwardly and wounding her leg at the outskirts of the city, where she was found by Tristan and Edward, who took her in. Ever since, although shy around others, Allison had fallen in love with Tristan, who loved her back, and it was clear that the two would become mates once they were both adults.

While Tristan, for all his physical prowess, preferred to see battle as simply dirty business that had to be done, Boudicea, despite being female, had a thing for battle, something that was impressive for any dinosaur, male, or female. Compared to her larger brother, Boudicea took part in combat more often, and though she was not QUITE as fast as him due to her much smaller size and therefore shorter legs, she was still much faster than a horse, and her 3 large horns meant that her specialty was smashing holes in the enemy lines for her human comrades to exploit, something she was quite good at. Despite her large size (she was quite large even for a threehorn), Boudicea was still short enough to fit through most castle gates and portcullises, and this also gave her the ability to smash through enemy gates if necessary. And when off the Battlefield, though still much more hearty and boisterous than Tristan, Boudicea was _fairly_ calm and caring, but she was more well known for her very dry sense of humor and a temper similar to her father's.

Kayleigh was a rather interesting case. On one hand, a combination of Tristan's kind, caring, and loving off-the-battle temperament with Boudicea's carefree nature meant that, in peacetime, Kayleigh was by and far the friendliest and most outgoing of the Canmore Dinosaurs (as the nobles and most of Scotland called the 5 dinosaurs whom Edward adopted), and her motherly attitude towards them, combined with a rather entertaining tendency to say "aye, aye, aye" or "nae, nae, nae" when she was happy meant that she was well liked by the Scots, both men and dinosaurs, on the campaigns. On the other hand, though...there was how she acted whenever she was in battle. In battle, the way that Kayleigh fought made her the most fearsome and frightening of the Canmore Dinosaurs. For one thing, she could smith her own weapons and armor, and in battle, she wore armor that was a combination of chainmail and lamellar, and that was heavier than the armor that most swimmers wore in battle, making her nigh-invulnerable compared to them, and she also carried around a massive Damascus steel sword, which had a blade that twice the length of a man, and was so sharp, so heavy, and so large that, if necessary, Kayleigh could _destroy an entire enemy unit by herself_. Additionally, if she could find any stones, she would have a sling on her, and with it, she could hurl huge rocks across the battlefield. If she was in a good mood or pitied the enemy, she would hurl the stone high into the air so that it would come almost straight down on the enemy, guaranteeing a quick death if it hit an enemy soldier. However, if she was in a bad mood or hated the enemy, she would hurl the stones horizontally so that they would hit the enemy head on, and anyone directly hit would likely be split in half, and then others nearby would likely be sent flying or at least knocked down with heavy wounds.

Tristan, Boudicea, and Kayleigh may have been able to participate in combat, and were very deadly and frightening when doing so, Murdoch was unable to do that. Not because of fear or too much pity for the enemy, mind you. The reason was that, while he certainly may have wanted to fight for Scotland in battle...he was physically unable to do so, for if he tried, he could be killed. For one thing, Murdoch was, by and far, the smallest and most frail of the Canmore Dinosaurs. Standing straight up, Murdoch was only the height of a grown man. By human standards, it might have seemed impressive, but compared to his siblings, who were all giants many times larger than any man could dream of becoming, Murdoch was tiny. And the frailness came from the fact that Murdoch only weighed as much as a small child, and though this allowed him to fly, it also meant that, compared to a man, he was, well, frail, and easy to injure. Due to these physical limitations, other than flying away and using his sharp beak, Murdoch wasn't really able to physically defend himself, and because of this problem, he usually stuck around Tristan, Boudicea, or Kayleigh. Even then, he was still of great importance and well respected in the Scottish Armies due to his tactical ability, and his ability to spy on the enemy from above while flying over them. On the side of planning, strategy, and tactics, Murdoch tied with Tristan for being the best of the Canmore Dinosaurs at these three areas. Of course, that didn't mean that Boudicea, Kayleigh, and Robert were stupid, as they were just as smart, but it just meant that Murdoch and Tristan were better at tactics. And on the side of getting information on enemy armies, Murdoch was better than even most Scottish Spies (who were the best in the human world) because of his ability to fly over the enemy. Outside of Scotland, dinosaurs were often treated poorly, and they were seen as inferior to humans, and because of this, if Murdoch were to fly over an enemy army, he would likely be dismissed as just another flyer, allowing him to gather information from above without drawing suspicion to himself. And once he got back to the Scottish camp, he was quite good at communicating this information to his siblings, his father and uncle, and the Scottish commanders, despite the fact that, in his youth, he spoke in a broken manner, and it was, at times, hard to understand him. Personality-wise, he had quite a soft center, and when not on a campaign, he preferred to watch the children of the Canmore family, particularly Domnall and Nectan, the very young sons of his uncle, Edmund.

Like Murdoch, due to physical weaknesses, Robert chose to contribute to Scotland in ways that did not involve fighting directly in battle. But unlike Murdoch, who was too frail, Robert was too slow. You see, as a spiketail, Robert was quite slow compared to other dinosaurs, for he was easily outran by horses, and while still being faster than a human was impressive in the eyes of a human, it was embarrassing for a dinosaur, as most were either about as fast or faster than horses. Additionally, while Tristan had his long forelegs, Boudicea had her horns, Ducky had her weapons, and Murdoch had his beak, Robert didn't have any means of frontal attack or defense. His only real means of physical defense, his spiked tail, was awkward at best, and Robert was wise enough to keep it reserved for, well, defense. So of course Robert decided to contribute in other ways. Like his siblings, Robert was good at tactics and strategy (his name didn't mean "Bright" for nothing), but unlike them, he focused more on the logistics side of things than the battle side. He knew that, Scottish or not, every army needed ample supplies and manpower to function, or else attrition would destroy them, so he focused on making tactics and strategy that both reinforced and protected the Scottish Army's supplies, and deprived the enemy of their own. Now, although he did have his focus on logistics, that didn't mean Robert didn't play a role in battle at all. Actually, the job in the Scottish Army that he did was being a pack mule. Almost literally. The Scots did indeed use artillery, like any good army should, and the most common type was a kind of catapult called an "Onager", which functioned by twisting the ropes holding the bottom of the arm, and then the tension was set loose to fire the projectiles that were loaded in the top of the arm. Of course, due to their size, Onagers weighed an awful lot, and it was extremely difficult to move one, so they usually had wheels to make this easier. And this is what Robert took advantage of, for while he was slow and also the youngest of the Canmore Dinosaurs, he was VERY strong and had great endurance, so pulling things on wheels was something that he could easily do. So what he did was attach, with a wooden beam, his spiked tail to one of the Onagers, and since there were always more than one Onager, have the others attached to the first one in a similar manner, forming a sort of "Artillery Train" that allowed him to transport the Onagers over a long distance. Since Robert was large enough, the Artillery commander, or commanders, would ride on him to preserve their energy and stamina. And, of course, off the campaign, Robert was gentle and easygoing, albeit a harder worker than most would think when they looked at him.

And before you ask, Edward had considered Tristan, Murdoch, and Robert as possible heirs to Scotland, but Murdoch and Robert just didn't have the confidence, and while Tristan had considered becoming the heir, and recognized that he could do a decent job as king, he ultimately told his father that it would feel very awkward for even Scotland to have a dinosaur as king, and said that he would only become the heir to Scotland if there were no human options for heirs.

Today, Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert were resting in a courtyard of Cairo. This part of the city was where they rested and slept during the night, and today, they had all just woken up, and were resting together, as usual. But then, Robert noticed Edward coming around a corner with a second man walking alongside him.

"Oh, good morning, father." Robert greeted.

"Good morning, lad." Edward responded.

"Ye have something for us to do?" Tristan asked.

"Well, I just want to have ye meet this lad right here." Edward answered. "His name's Mac. I've adopted him into the family for his bravery and skill that he showed when we took Gaza."

"Well done, Mac." Boudicea congratulated him. "Welcome to the family."

"An honor, milady." Mac simply replied. "Sorry to sound so hasty, but I have a mission that yer father gave me. I have to lead an army to take Acre."

"Acre?" Murdoch asked. "What's that?"

"It's a small rebel stronghold led by a Captain named "Baydara"." Edward answered Murdoch's question. "It sits to the north, and it prevents contact with the continent, and possible diplomatic ties that could improve Scotland's position." Then, he turned to Mac. "It is important, do ye ken, Mac?"

"Aye." Mac nodded. "Ye want me to take it from those rebels and open up trade lines."

King Edward nodded, adding this: "Nae just that, Mac. This is yer chance to command men, more than just that unit ye commanded at Gaza. This time, ye'll be controlling the whole host. I need to know that ye can do this...the men need to know ye can do this...it's important, Mac. Very important."

"I shall not let ye down, my king." Mac saluted. "Nor shall I ever forget this chance that ye have given me."

The Canmore dinosaurs hadn't said anything else as Mac left the room, for they did trust Mac's commanding ability, and they were sure that the men would trust him. They simply hoped that he would bring ENOUGH men.

Unfortunately, on this, they would be proven wrong.

* * *

Mac sat his horse as the Onagers blasted Acre's gates, mulling over his intelligence. He was matched in terms of the number of men, but the Rebels were rabble with no cavalry to speak of, depending on the strength of the walls to protect them.

The gates shattered, and Mac lifted his sword, ordering his men forward through the unguarded gates. Keeping in min the lessons he'd learned from King Edward and Prince Edmund, he sent his infantry through first and brought up the rear, to avoid a sudden attack that would kill him and send the army into a panic. The air was still and the streets deserted, a foreboding feeling in the air, the calm before the storm.

"Where are they?" Mac muttered, and then heard a very familiar whistling noise, raising his head to see flaming arrows arcing through the air towards him as he shouted in warning: "SHIELDS!"

He threw up his own shield and felt an arrow bounce away from him as he stared down the street and saw a large collection of archers reloading to fire once more. They were only archers, though, and had been relying on the element of surprise.

"CHARGE!" Mac roared, knowing that the lightly armored Rebels would quickly outpace his own infantry if he didn't get moving. "BRING THEM DOWN!"

The archers were brought down in large numbers, completely unable to cope with Mac's Bodyguard as they charged through them, the infantry not far behind, slaughtering those who survived the initial charge. But as the last survivors scrambled down the streets towards safety, a cry rang up from the Gate, as the Onager unit was attacked on the main street by Captain Baydara's Spearmen.

"Infantry, back! Cavalry, follow me!" Mac roared, leading his horse down the side street with his Bodyguard in tow. They broke out onto the main road behind the force of Spearmen, who were concentrating on the swiftly approaching Infantry, completely oblivious to the Heavy Cavalry right behind them. Mac grinned fiercely, and kicked at his horse's sides as he belted out the order: "CHARGE!"

They smashed into the backs of the Spearmen, who screamed in terror as they were trampled and bitten by horses while their riders slashed with their swords. Captain Baydara called the retreat, and those of his men still in possesion of their wits charged to the sides of the street along the walls of buildings where they way was relatively clear of the Horses.

"NO ESCAPE! NO PRISONERS!" Mac roared again. "INFANTRY, GIVE CHASE!"

As the Knights, Swordsmen, and Highlanders charged after the fleeing Spearmen, Mac and his Cavalry laid about them, dealing with those not lucky enough to have escaped. As the last man was brought down, he turned his attention back down the dusty road, only to see that the Rebel Spearmen were spreading distance between them and their pursuers. There was nowhere to run, but Mac was furious, for he thought that the battle should be over by now, and the Rebels were only extending the inevitable.

"After them, men!" He shouted. "Let's finish this NOW!"

He charged forward, lost in battle and forgetting his plans, believing that, at this point, all was said and done. He quickly passed his infantry, closing the gap between him and the Rebels and letting loose a blood chilling roar of triumph as he raised his sword. But what he was about to realized was that he was screwed.

"NOW!" Baydara screamed as he charged forward, and from the alleyways emerged a small group of reserve Spearmen, bracing themselves as they presented their spears at an angle directly at the heart of Mac's horse.

"NO!" Mac had time to scream, and then his horse was buckling and screaming it self as he fell to the side and hit the ground with a rough gasp. Acting more on instinct than anything else, he rolled aside and to his feet, swinging his sword wildly and cutting into the side of a Spearman as the rebel lunged at him.

"To me, men!" Mac shouted in desperation, tearing his sword free as the Spearmen charged him. "TO ME!"

The rest of his cavalry not caught in the trap had rode clear and turned, and now they prepared to charge back when the rest of the fleeing spearmen turned and charged at them, surrounding them and preventing their horses from moving as the men riding them fought desperately to get clear.

"MEN OF SCOTLAND TO ME!" Mac screamed as a sword jammed in his upper arm, causing him to drop his own. "TO ME!"

The infantry heard his cries, and began rushing to where they heard their commander, as the Scottish Noble collapsed to his knees, a spear jammed into his side and blood spilling from several wounds.

"Men of...Scotland..." Mac gasped. "Men of Sco..."

And then he fell face down, speaking no more.

* * *

 _A Noble Death_

 _Mac Dobarchon of Angus_

* * *

"There goes that yappy dog." Baydara snickered as he looked at the fallen man.

But as he was about to order his men to kill the rest of the Scots, suddenly, he heard footsteps that were not those of his spearmen. He turned around to see a group of what appeared to be men who almost seemed to be wearing dresses that had odd square-shaped patterns on them. Why were they wearing that, and no armor? Why were they only armed with an axe and a shield each? And why did they look so furious at the loss of their lord, when they should have been demoralized? To his horror, he almost immediately found out why.

"AAAARRGGGGHHHH!" One of them roared, and then the others were roaring too. And then they all charged Baydara and his remaining spearmen.

"Oh no-" Baydara had time to say until one of them split him in two, and then these men in dresses were hacking the spearmen to pieces. At the same time, the rest of the infantry had slaughtered the spearmen that had held up the cavalry that could have saved Mac.

* * *

 _Enemy General Fallen_

 _Captain Baydara_

* * *

Baydara and his men had just been fatally introduced to the most infamous of the Highlanders: the Highland Berserkers.

* * *

Being at the edge of Gaza at the time, Murdoch was the first of the Canmores to hear the news of Mac's demise, and upon hearing it, he dropped his face into the hands on his wings. Poor lad was young, and had many years ahead of him, and then he had died in battle against those bastards at Acre!

After dismissing the messenger, he nervously flew to another part of Cairo to find his siblings and tell them what had happened. He soon found them in the courtyard, and began to land.

"Murdoch." Boudicea's voice startled him mid-air, enough to make him mess up his landing and fall on his rear end. He shook his head, and was startled to see that the rock he though he was sitting on was actually Boudicea.

"Is there something wrong?" Boudicea asked.

"Aye, there is!" Murdoch almost shouted. Then, he told them the news. "Mac, the lad that father introduced to us...he didn't bring enough men with him, and he...he's been killed in battle in Acre!"

The reaction from his brothers and sisters told him all that he needed to know, for they stood still for several seconds before Robert actually fainted, and Tristan, Boudicea, and Kayleigh sat down, hanging their heads.

"Oh, wonderful." Tristan muttered. "How will father react?"

They soon got a very loud answer, for a roar came from Edward's chambers, as he was given the same message as Murdoch:

"YE CANNAE BE SERIOUS! NAE! NAE! NAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

Edward was enraged when the news reached him that Mac Dobarchon of Angus (that was his full name) had died in battle with Captain Baydara. The death of a man he had fought with and recently adopted into his family hit him so hard that some whispered that he was using the death of the young man to vent his grief over the death of his father. He retired to his chambers, warning death on anyone not family who disturbed him, and even Edmund knew enough to leave his Brother to himself. After a day, he ordered food brought to him, and then drink, then more drink, and then even more drink. At night, the Palace at Gaza roared with Edward's voice, alternating between laughing, crying, singing, and cursing. To his sons and daughters, this sound was just plain pitiful and painful to listen to, as they had never seen (or should I say, heard) him act like this, for he was usually confident and a man to be respected.

Then, for a day, there was no noise from him at all, and just as Edmund was considering entering his Brother's chambers unbidden to check on him, the call came from Edward to meet him.

When he arrived, several men were gathered around Edward's desk, the King looking disheveled, unshaven, and red-eyed. They bowed to Edward, then turned and bowed to Edmund as they left, the Prince recognizing his spy, Fearghus Campbell, and another man he knew the former had recruited. The others were diplomats, though Patrick MacDougall was conspicuous by his absence. Another man entered the chambers behind Edmund, and he turned to raise an eyebrow at him, recognizing him as an able commander from their army, Finguine Arthyn. He knew Finguine more by reputation than personal experience, but by all accounts, he was a promising commander with a strong religious bent, but he was also well known for taking victory at all costs, including using non-combatants as a means to an end. Finguine shrugged at him, indicating that he didn't know why he had been summoned either, and then Edward coughed roughly and got the attention of both of them.

"Finguine, ye Father was a landless Noble, was he nae?"

"Aye, my King." Finguine replied. "Our Grandfather went into debt and my Father was forced into the army, which I was born into."

"I am adopting ye into our Royal Family, Finguine." Edward grunted almost dismissively. "Ye're a good commander, and ye're nae naive, ye ken the realities of the world...Mac Dobarchon did nae, and he died for that."

"My...My King..." Finguine gasped, astonished, "I dinnae ken what to say..."

"Ye'll prove yer worth with me on the field as ye have in the past." Edward almost snapped, cutting him off. "Forgive ye King, Finguine, for circumstance makes what should be a joyous occasion a short one. Return to the barracks and take what ye will from yer quarters, then return to the palace, where ye'll be given quarters."

"My King." Finguine replied gravely, bowing. "May God bless ye."

* * *

 _A Candidate For Adoption_

 _Benefactor: King Edward the Crusader_

 _Finguine Arthyn_

 _Age: 25_

 _Command: 1_

 _Dread: 1_

 _Loyalty: 5_

 _Piety: 1_

 _Traits: Drillmaster, Budding Bureaucrat, Promising Commander, Religious, Winning First_

* * *

He left, and Edmund raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Our family needs more able Generals, Edmund." Edward explained. "Ye and I rule a large Empire now, we cannae lead every battle ourselves, nor should we, for the good of the Nation."

"Finguine would nae be my first choice." Edmund remarked.

"He was nae mine, either." Edward grumbled. "But circumstance dictated otherwise...ye saw the men I sent out before ye?"

"Aye, spies and diplomats." Edmund nodded. "What are ye up to?"

"Rebels, Edmund." The growled reply came. "Accursed rebels who think to lead themselves in violation of every law of nature, nobility, and God. The ones in York made the lives of Tristan, Boudicea, Kayleigh, Murdoch, and Robert a living hell before we rescued and adopted them. And the ones here are responsible for fath...for Mac's death, and they will PAY for it!"

Edmund inclined his head, and did not mention his Brother's slip. If some rebels needed to die for Edward to release his grief and stress, then so be it. They were, after all, only rebels, and he knew of a certain group of 5 young dinosaurs who would eagerly join their father in taking them out.

* * *

As the days turned to weeks, the world moved on as it had in the past and would in the future, no matter who died or how important they had been. Cardinal Brian Maknab died in York, apparently inconsolable after the death of his old friend Malcolm III, and Edward was incensed anew when a Venetian Cardinal was chosen by the Pope to replace the late Scottish Cardinal in the College of Cardinals. But death was not the only constant, as the Scottish Royal family was now finally producing the children delayed for so long by the warring that its eldest sons took part in.

The Spies sent out by Edward to seek Rebels had begun to report back on Cities formerly held by rival Nations, now held by rebelling slaves and freemen. As Edward considered their reports and discussed with Edmund plans to take the cities for Scotland, his Diplomats began to stretch throughout the World, making contact with other Nations and opening Diplomatic relationships with them, gaining trade rights and map information as Edward finally accepted that he needed to focus his attention on the wider world outside of Scotland's immediate interests.

Edmund's former good mood finally returned, and with a vengeance, when news came through the Diplomatic Connections that Venice had grown arrogant with the selection of their Cardinal into the College of Cardinals, and gravely insulted the Pope in a moment of madness, or as the Canmore Dinosaurs called it, stupidity. The Venetians were immediately excommunicated, and Edward threw a party on a whisper-thin pretext.

* * *

 _Faction Excommunicated_

 _Venice_

* * *

And then Alexander and David arrived.

Edward and Edmund had not seen Alexander since he was a lad yet to be a man, and David a young child. The two youngest sons of King Malcolm Canmore had taken ship to pay respects to their brother and new King, and their arrival threw the Royal Court into an uproar, as the Scottish high society now based in Egypt struggled to find out the disposition of the elder brothers to their younger kin, and thus how they should act accordingly.

Edward sat in his throne in his Gaza Palace as the heralds announced the arrival of Alexander and David at court, Edmund standing beside him, and Finguine out in the field with the Canmore Dinosaurs prepared for Edward's latest planned campaign against the Rebels.

"Introducing Alexander Canmore of Edinburgh and David Canmore of York!" The Royal Herald announced, and the two men stepped into court to be seen by most for the first time. Edward gripped at his throne as Alexander entered, for the man was the splitting image of his father at a younger age, though bald and affecting a mustache. David was tall and pale, having an almost sickly complexion. But his eyes were bright and darting, taking in everything around him while his face held a blank expression.

Alexander and David knelt before Edward, lowering their heads as Alexander acknowledged him as King of Scotland, words echoed shortly after by David. He bid them stand, and noticed that David seemed visibly paler from the slight exertion. He welcomed them to his court, and told them that it was long since past time the Brothers Canmore were reunited, though the four of them had almost never been all together in the same room before. Edward had tolerated Edmund as a youth and then grown to love him, but Alexander and David had each been the baby to both of them, and neither had time for them. But it was important that the proper things be said, especially in front of the right people, something Edward's father had always insisted on and that Edward had never really seen the need for until becoming King himself.

Later that night, they sat at feast as they celebrated the "reunion", and while Alexander and Edmund took part in an energetic debate about the use of assassins in warfare, David leaned across to Edward to speak to him for the first time, and the words he used burned themselves into Edward's mind.

"Father spoke of you often."

As Edmund pointed out that assassins by their nature were as duplicitous as spies but twice as dangerous because of their training in the art of, well, assassination, he noticed Edward and David stand up and leave the hall together, and he wondered briefly to himself what these two could possibly have to talk about.

* * *

David Canmore was heir to the throne of Scotland.

Edmund could scarce believe it, but he had to admit that the choice made sense. A week ago, they had almost forgotten Alexander and David existed, then they had come come to Gaza, held a feast and David and Edward had disappeared for half the night. The next day, Edward had summoned Edmund and told him his plans, qualifying every statement and seemingly at pains for Edmund's approval, though Edmund himself knew it was someone else's approval he was looking for, someone whose approval he had never looked for before yesterday and today.

Father's.

David had told Edward that Malcolm had seemingly gained a soft touch in his old age, and often when he and David spoke, it was Edward and Edmund that he spoke of, Edward most often. David then handed Edward a letter, written in Father's hand by the old man on his deathbed, cursing himself for a stubborn old fool and telling Edward that he was proud of his son for having the guts to go out and gain himself a Kingdom rather than wait for his Father to die and inherit an impoverished Scotland under all but official rule by the English.

So it was that Edward spoke eloquently (and almost desparately) to Edmund of the need for a young Heir, someone with the best qualities of Clan Canmore. David was, by all accounts, a natural tactician with an eye for strategy and an inborn talent to command men. His weak physical nature spoke against him, but as General, he need not ride into the thick of battle anyways. Edmund pointed out that Alexander was not much older than David AND tested in battle, which David was not - in fact, he was concerned that the obviously weak-bodied youngest brother would faint dead away at the sight of blood. But Edward angrily pointed out that Alexander's great shame was his apparent impotence, and Edward would not name heir a man who could not father children. Finally, Edmund had acquiesced, since he had to agree that whatever the reasons for Edward's choice of Heir, he himself had no desire to be King, and David seemed an agreeable enough lad, and obviously bright.

* * *

 _Alexander Canmore_

 _Age: 24_

 _Family Member_

 _Command: 2_

 _Chivalry: 1_

 _Loyalty: 5_

 _Piety: 1_

 _Traits: Good With Taxes, Proper Morals, Active Builder, Lame of Loin, Talent for Command, Gets Merry_

* * *

 _Prince David_

 _Age: 22_

 _Faction Heir_

 _Command: 5_

 _Chivalry: 1_

 _Loyalty: 5_

 _Piety: 1_

 _Traits: Born Conqueror, Chivalrous Father, Un-Manly, Night Fighter, Active Builder, Heir Apparent_

* * *

Plus, Edmund had to admit that both their younger brothers were keen to prove themselves. When Edward told them he was preparing to travel with Finguine and his own sons and daughters to the desert city of Baghdad to take it from the Rebels there, both had insisted on travelling with him to take part in the battle. Edward had readily agreed, keen to make use of both Alexander and David's talent for strategy, as well as show them the realities of war outside of dusty old books and accounts of battles 1000 years (or more) in the past.

They and the Canmore Dinosaurs set out for Baghdad, leaving Edmund behind in Gaza to deal with the day-to-day management of the Empire, a task he mostly delegated to underlings anyways while taking part in his own passion, which was the spy network he'd been working on for months now with Fearghus Campbell. After signing off on trade deals with France, the Holy Roman Empire, and Denmark, he went back to a report from Diplomat Gille Calline the Balleol, an exceptional Diplomat who had been working on opening relations with the Moors. It seemed Venice had been embraced once more by the Pope, and Sicily was trying to make inroads against the Moors, which would put them in proximity to Scotland's own lands. He frowned as he considered the implications of this, and then frowned again as a cough caught his attention. he look up and saw, to his surprise, Patrick MacDougall, whom hadn't been seen in the palace for a good week now after Edward had roared at him for bringing news from Scotland, where the Council of Nobles was still obsessed with the Rebel stronghold of Inverness, and an English Spy had been caught in the act of trying to infiltrate York.

"My lord," Patrick said with a bow, "I bring word from Damascus. The Rebels there are building up forces, apparently in preparation for an attack on Acre."

Edmund frowned at this. Fearghus' report on Damascus showed it to be lightly garrisoned, but the Spy had not been there for weeks, as he had infiltrated Baghdad on Edward's behalf. It was possible, and if true, then with Edward and the bulk of the Scottish forces across the desert in Baghdad, Acre was exposed. If Acre fell, it would cut their trade and negate the deals he'd only just signed into effect.

"Where do ye get ye information from, Patrick?" Edmund asked, curious.

"King Edward has had little use for me, as ye know." Patrick sighed. "A Diplomat makes contacts whether his King will use them or not, and the word comes to me through my contact with merchants and fellow Diplomats travelling through our lands.

"Then we must take Damascus before Damascus can take Acre." Edmund grunted. "I can raise a small army, and our men in Acre can gather intelligence on the works of Damascus itself.

"If I may make a suggestion, my lord?" Patrick asked, and continued when Edmund waved a hand. "Prince Alexander and David travelled with the younger sons of Scottish Nobles seeking to gain favor with the King. They are all military men, and experienced in combat. I am sure that they would jump at the chance to fight for Scotland."

"Assemble them, Patrick." Edmund nodded. "I must prepare the city for my absence."

* * *

King Edward stood in his tent outside of Baghdad, reviewing his battle plans for Finguine, Alexander, and David. A messenger entered the tent and passed him a note, and Edward grinned fiercely.

"Our spy has reported he has infiltrated the Gatehouse and will open the gates for us on our command." He announced. "The time is right, and our men are rested! We go to battle!"

The others bowed and left the tents to make their own preparations, David and Alexander moving to the large tent that they shared.

"This blasted desert is a far cry from Scotland, is it not, brother?" Alexander grinned as he pulled on his armor.

"Yes, Brother." David agreed, the Scottish accent he affected on Edward's behalf replaced by the accentless voice of someone raised and schooled in the finest academies of multiple nations throughout the known world. "But if all goes to plan, this heat is not something we need worry about for long."

"The fool really bought it, didn't he?" Alexander laughed, a bitter, barking sound. "He really think that Father wrote that letter, that he took pride in this crazed dream of a Scottish Empire in Egypt!"

"Enough that the drunken sop made me heir." David nodded. "And if all goes according to plan here and at Damascus, then soon, I will be King, you will be my General and heir, and we will be home where we belong, in Scotland."

With shared grins, the two who considered themselves Malcolm Canmore III's true sons prepared to go to war.


	7. Coup d'Echec

"Inside, men and dinosaurs, there are rebels to kill!" Edward roared as he stared down the gates of Baghdad, with the men and dinosaurs under his command (about 2400 men, and 120 dinosaurs) charging forward towards them.

In one of the towers, Fearghus Campbell, who, right now, was in a disguise as one of the rebels, waited patiently, waiting for the right moment to open the gates for his fellow Scots. Beside him, the Rebel assigned with him laughed at the apparent ludicrous arrogance of the Scots, not aware of the fact that Fearghus wasn't a fellow rebel. As the Scots approached, a handful falling here and there to arrows fired from the walls, Fearghus slammed his elbow into the man's face, then struck the lever that controlled the gate system, causing the doors to swing open, and giving the invading army an opportunity to assault the city. Fearghus then dragged his unconscious "companion" to the corner and swiftly tied him up, and then he checked the bolts on the gatehouse door again to make sure that they were secure. Here he would remain for the rest of the battle.

* * *

The Rebel Infantry, caught off guard by the gates suddenly opening, charged in desperation, hoping to stop the Scots, but the Scots were flooding in like the tide, splitting through the rebels and surrounding and exposing them on all sides. Onager fire smash into the wall where Archers were stationed, the rebels on top fleeing in horror as the walls crumbled around them. On the ground, Highlanders roared out in challenge as they prepared to charge into battle.

"Alright, lads!" Angus laughed, his blood up and battle lust coming upon him. "LET'S SHOVE OUR SWORDS UP THEIR ARSES!"

The Rebel Infantry held only momentarily before they broke and ran as more and more of them were cut down by the Scottish, the Highlanders in particular striking fear into their hearts as the long haired, facepainted warriors roared and hacked away at the enemy, and then roared again in triumph.

"Cavalry, through the gates!" King Edward ordered, spurring his own horse forward, with Finguine and his Turkopole Archers close behind.

Edward passed through the gates, his men cheering to see him as they dealt with the last of the archers and infantry that had failed to escape.

"Are these Rebels men, or are they women dressed in armor!?" Edward jeered, to the delight of the soldiers. "Shall we cut their cloth from them and discover what's between their legs?"

"Aye!" Angus laughed, ecstatic. "My cousin Rory can make use of either!"

Rory, who heard this, laughed as loudly as the other highlanders, and among the rest of the soldiers, the Sudanese Mercenaries were all smiling bright teeth in dark face, the Crusader Knights stared at Edward with open admiration, and the Religious Fanatics simply stood and waited for the chance to kill more heathens. At the entrance to the city, Alexander and David exchanged knowing glances.

"Then forward, men!" Edward loudly ordered. "Today, Baghdad becomes Scottish!"

Edward spurred his horse forward, the infantry charging alongside. Far down the street, they could see Arab Cavalry approaching, hoping to pepper them with arrows and retreat on horseback. But they had no such luck, for as Edward charged at them, the Turkopole Archers and Tarantine Cavalry riding with him rained arrows and javelins on the Arabs, killing them as they tried to run.

As they clashed, the surviving Rebel Infantry and a small number of Arab Cavalry found themselves behind the main line, between the fighting Scots and the two units of Heavy Cavalry still sitting at the gate, led by Alexander and David respectively.

"To the sides!" Alexander ordered, seeing the danger. "Ride East and West and rejoin the King at the City Center!"

He spurred his horse forward and his men followed, Alexander cursing the poor quality of the Rebel Defense. David's plan had been for the two of them to have their units block the gates so that Tristan, Boudicea, and Kayleigh, the 3 Canmore dinosaurs who participated in battle, and one-dinosaur-armies in their own right, from coming in, for they didn't want to trample their own men getting in. Then, they would wait for the Infantry to get bogged down in fighting at the Gate, with King Alexander being forced to ride ahead to deal with the mounted Cavalry firing arrows from further inside the City. And then Alexander and David would ride around to place themselves between Edward and the Scottish Infantry, ostensibly to lend support to the men on the ground, leaving Edward isolated in the heart of enemy territory where even his accursed luck would not save him.

Instead, the Rebel Infantry had folded immediately, allowing Edward to ride with Infantry at his side to face the Arab Cavalry. It was quite a setback. Now, Alexander and David would have to wait for an opportunity to maneuver Edward into a position to die, but at least the battle was nearing its conclusion. Reaching the corner of the city walls, Alexander took a moment to look back to the gates, and felt his blood turn to ice. David remained where Alexander had left him, unmoving on his horse as his Bodyguard fought on horseback all around him against the surviving Rebels.

"Ride David, ride!" Alexander cried out, but his brother seemed almost a statue, sitting perfectly still. Cursing, Alexander spurred his horse and rode as hard as he could, his own men following behind as he cried out "DAVID! DAVID! TO THE PRINCE'S SIDE!".

Finguine twisted his head to the side as he cleaved a Rebel's head in two with his blade, hearing Alexander's screams across the cacophony of battle all around him. Cursing as he saw Prince David's predicament, he twisted his horse around, bellowing out the order: "TO PRINCE DAVID'S SIDE!"

He crashed into the Arab Cavalry behind, single-handedly carving them up in creative ways as he plowed through the shifting mass of horses and men, and then he saw David sitting still on his horse, his face paler than ever, eyes wide and mouth hanging open...what was he doing?

Finguine let loose a roar and pressed forward, hearing his hoplites and highlanders smashing into the Rebels on either side of him as he reached David's side and grabbed at his reins, tugging the horse away from the battle. But as the horse turned, David remained in place, sliding from the horse and crashing into the ground, foot stuck in a stirrup. Finguine cursed and leapt down, slashing at a Rebel who charged at him screaming before collapsing gurgling blood and clutching at his slashed neck. A large armored figure barreled past him, the distraught face barely recognizable as Alexander as the Prince dropped to his knees and clutched at David's body. He roared for David to get up, but Finguine could have told him that it was useless.

Somehow, some way, Prince David Canmore, Heir to the Scottish Throne, was dead.

* * *

 _A Noble Death_

 _Prince David_

* * *

Gutting the Rebel Captain, Osman, like a fish with his Kopis, King Edward looked around for more enemies to kill and saw none close by. The tattered remnants of the Rebels were being dealt with by his Highlanders and Hoplites, Angus and Rory, who were among the former, laughing insults back and forth as they cast down their opponents. Turning on his horse, Edward frowned as he noted Finguine and Alexander walking horseless down the streets towards him, carrying a body between them.

"Prince David..." Finguine grunted as he reached the King, shock noticeable on his face, "He...he is dead."

Edward slid from his horse, pulling away his helm, his eyes wide and mouth opening and closing in disbelief as he approached David's body and knelt beside it.

"He...he bears nae mark!" Edward gasped, staring at David's face, which was locked in a rictus of mortal terror.

"My King," muttered an Armored Knight, one of David's personal bodyguard, "He would no move once we passed the gate and ye rode after the Rebels...he kept whispering "The Blood, The Blood," over and over again, and we could nae get him to move."

"He always hated blood, but it only made him sick, never this, never anything like..." Alexander whispered in horror, then gulped visibly before turning his sweat soaked to Edward. "He died of fright...all his plans, his mind, his potential...he died of fright."

"Nae." Finguine replied fiercely, and before the startled eyes of all present, he drew his sword and plunged it into David's side, where the armor was buckled.

"HE DIED IN BATTLE, BRAVELY FACING THE ENEMY CHARGE!" Finguine roared at the assembled horsemen. "DO YE KEN!? HE DIED IN BATTLE!"

They stared at him in horror, and then Edward gripped Finguine's shoulder, joining in, "Aye! My youngest Brother was a true man, and would not bring shame to the family by running! He died sending his enemies to hell, he died a man!"

"Hail Prince David!" a random Hippeus lancer roared, and the others quickly took it up as Alexander dropped to his brother's side and began weeping, inconsolable.

"Finguine, kneel before me." Edward hissed, and Finguine did so immediately, lowering his head. Edward drew his  
Kopis, and placed the blade on Finguine's shoulder. "I name thee Prince Finguine, heir to the throne of Scotland!"

Alexander's weeping redoubled, but was drowned out by the roar of approval from the horsemen surrounding him. The last "true" son of Malcolm Canmore weeped not just for the death of his beloved Brother, but what he truly believed to be the end of any chance to restore Scotland to what it once had been.


End file.
